


A Changing Wind

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Minor Character Death, POV Multiple, POV Sandor, Relationship(s), Retelling, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 98
Words: 95,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Formerly titled "Winds of Change"<br/>Sandor stays and fights at the Battle of the Blackwater, causing ripples of change throughout Westeros. A retelling of "A Storm of Swords" (includes a few events from "A Clash of Kings").</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Varys: Noticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love "A Song of Ice and Fire"/"Game of Thrones", but I was very unsatisfied with how Sandor is written out in both. He's my favorite character and I absolutely adore Rory McCann's portrayal of him though he is a bit older than I imagine Sandor from the books, so I did a little "what if Sandor didn't leave King's Landing the night of the battle?" and continued from there. 
> 
> This story starts around the events of the Battle of Blackwater, with a few minor alterations and notes to consider as I wrote this story:  
> 1) Sansa is older at 18 and a bit smarter because of that. Still naive and a bit of a silly goose.  
> 2) Sandor is closer to his age in the books, which is around 28, I believe.  
> 3) Joffrey is also a bit older in this story, since he is around Sansa's age in both the books and the tv show. Still a vicious, idiot though.  
> 4) I try not to mention any of their ages in the actual story, so that you can see them as you wish to.  
> 5) While there are other relationships happening around them, I mostly focus on Sandor and Sansa. Tyrion/Shae do not show until Ch 12 (though the characters are mentioned earlier) and Jaime/Brienne do not show up until Ch 41.
> 
> Ultimately, it becomes an alternate timeline (think Back to the Future Part II) because of these “what if” ideas. I draw from the events of both tv and books, even going so far as to mix the two in some places, so please keep that in mind as you read. I try to keep the characters as true as possible, but I probably deviated a bit. Forgive me for that? I did try for character development and personal growth with all the characters, and especially with Sandor.
> 
> *********

Varys watched the scene unfold from his dark corner, though he doubted they would have seen him even if he was right besides them. He had been enjoying the view of the city when the girl had come up to the roof. She hadn’t noticed him at all. The Hound had been following her, had saved her from falling over the edge of the structure when she had doubled over in what Varys assumed was pain. Now the two were having an extremely heated conversation.

“Does it give you joy to scare people?” the Stark girl asked hotly.

“No,” the Hound responded. “It gives me joy to kill people.”

Varys was intrigued. Before the argument, the girl had blushed prettily in the torchlight when she realized it was the Hound that had saved her, but Clegane, in all his charm and flirtations, had started in on her.

 _If he can see her preference for him, he’s doing his damnedest to push her away. If he cannot, well, I wouldn’t be too surprised. Boys tend to bully the ones they like, and Clegane probably never learned past that aspect. Ah, to be young and at the beginning of love_ , Varys thought. He had felt sorry for the Stark girl, trapped in a marriage to the cruel boy king, but it seemed she had found someone able to protect her.

_If I was a kinder man, I would try to get those two together. Alas, they will have to make it on their own. Though perhaps just a few words of advice._

Varys waited until the girl fled, tears in the corners of her eyes. The Hound stared wordlessly at the scene below him.

“You know, if you want the girls to like you, you should probably be nicer to them,” Varys quipped at the larger man. He kept his distance, and wisely so. The Hound turned to sneer at him, brandishing his sword.

“What would you know of it, eunuch?” he snarled before storming back inside.

“I know girls don’t like bullies!” Varys called after him cheerfully, but he wasn’t sure if the Hound had heard him.

More amused than frightened, he decided that he would have to watch those two more closely. How entertaining.


	2. Sandor: The Battle of Blackwater

His wine skin was empty, but he was not drunk enough for his liking. The battle raged on outside and he could see flickers of the fire light dancing across the wall. He was so tired, physically and mentally. Her scent surrounded him, comforting him, as he lay there on her bed, eyes closed against the light of the fires outside. _A song_ , he thought, _All I want is the song._ Which song, he wasn’t sure. His lust had been kept in check by her naive and innocent nature, but sometimes, late at night when he was alone in his bed, he wondered what her song of ecstasy sounded like. It was not a thought he allowed himself to indulge in often, less he drive himself mad from never finding out.  
  
The door swung open and was shut almost immediately. He heard the locks tumble into place, and the sound footsteps rushing to the window. He opened his eyes and saw her silhouette against the harsh orange and greens.  
  
“Little bird…I knew you’d come,” he said hoarsely as he sat up in the bed. She whirled around, horror written on her face and then, to Sandor’s surprise, relief. She took a few steps towards him, then hesitated, unsure of herself.  
  
_Curious,_ he thought. He had thought he’d need to threaten her to keep her quiet, to keep her from screaming.  
  
“Don’t you want to ask who’s winning the battle, little bird?” he asked sarcastically.  
  
She tilted her head, looking very birdish at the moment, as if it had never occurred to her, but she asked, “Who?”  
  
_Dutiful as ever._ Out loud he said, “I only know who’s lost. Me.” He laughed bitterly. She took another hesitant step towards him, one hand reaching for him, but stopping almost immediately.  
  
“It was the fire, wasn’t it?” she asked softly. He turned away from her, ashamed and angry. She knew his secret, and he only had himself to blame for that. A rustle of fabric and he felt her delicate arms encircle him as best she could with his armor on.  
  
She stroked his hair and murmured comforts to him, “Shh, it’ll be alright.”  
  
He wanted to shove her away, to laugh at her and demand to know on what authority she was able to say such a lie. But he didn’t. He was so very tired of it all, and that was not his true desire. He accepted her sorrow on his behalf, her comfort, and her kindness. She had no reason to do this for him, and every reason to rebuke him.  
  
She began to sing, so softly as first, he couldn’t make out the words, but her voice gained strength.

  
_\--ve our sons from war, we pray,_  
_stay the swords and stay the arrows,_  
_let them know a better day._  
_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_  
_help our daughters through this fray,_  
_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_  
_teach us all a kinder way._

  
She continued to stroke his hair as she finished the verse. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember the rest of it. I will look it up later and sing it for you again, if you wish.”  
  
Something wet and warm slid down his cheek. It took him a moment to realize it was his own tears. He rubbed at his face harshly, trying to hide them.  
  
“I’ll be going then,” he stood up carefully, so as not to knock her over. Her hands trailed down arm, as if she did not want him to leave.  
  
“Going?” She asked.  
  
“The little bird repeats whatever she hears. Going, yes.”  
  
“Where will you go? Back to the battle?”  
  
“Bugger that. The dwarf set the bay on fire. If the gods are good, they’ll burn him, but I won’t be here to see that. I’m going away, away from here, away from the fire. Go out the Iron Gate, I suppose. North somewhere, anywhere.”  
  
“You won’t get out.” She looked sad as she said it. “The queen’s closed up Maegor’s, and the city gates as well.”  
  
He laughed, “Not to me. I have the white cloak. And I have this.” He patted the pommel of his sword. “The man who tries to stop me is a dead man. Unless he’s on fire.” He laughed bitterly again.  
  
She shook her head. “Why did you come here?”  
  
“For the song you promised me. Had you forgotten?” He grabbed her arm and stared at her intently. She squirmed.  
  
“You’re hurting me, you’re scaring me,” she whimpered. He pushed her down so that she was lying face up on the bed and he balanced himself above her. He had her pinned, a strong hand pressing into the bed on either side of her head, his knee between her thighs. _I could take her, right here, right now, and no one would be able to stop me_ , he thought.  
  
“Everything scares you. Look at me. _Look at me,”_ he demanded. She did. She stopped squirming and looked at him. He was slightly taken aback by this, but did not let it show. Several moments passed.  
  
“I could keep you safe,” he heard himself saying. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” It was the closest he had ever come to a confession of love. _As if she cares, _he thought.__  
  
“I can’t.” She raised her hand to his unburned cheek, stroking it softly with her thumb. “The king and his mother would hunt me down, hunt you down.”  
  
“They don’t scare me.”  
  
“I know. But I won’t have you die needlessly just because I run away with you.”  
  
“You think I’d lose to them?” he growled.  
  
“No,” she smiled another sad smile, “but I do think they would use every underhanded trick to get the best of you. Please, go if you must, but I will stay. Take this, as a token. It’s not much, but mayhap it will bring you a bit of luck.” She offered him a small grey embroidered cloth that had been hidden in her sleeve.  
  
“You will not consider it then?” He ignored her offer. _Ever the LADY_.  
  
“I will not take the risk. No, I cannot take it,” she said, tucking the cloth into his armor. He did not move to stop her. ”But if I may voice a selfish thought,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I wish you would stay.”  
  
Sandor said nothing in return. He rose from the bed. Only the sounds of his soiled white cloak ripping and his retreating footsteps could be heard.


	3. Sansa: Side-stepped

Sansa stood in the crowd of the throne room. She had heard the story from Ser Dontos. Tyrion Lannister had rallied the men to make a last ditch attempt to thwart Stannis and his troops. She had been shocked to hear that a second rally was made when the Hound returned to the battlefield. Apparently, he threw a bowl of berries and cream at the enemy before he began cutting them down. Where he had gotten the snack was anyone's guess. Lord Tywin and Ser Loras, along with Renly’s ghost, swept in with their troops to overcome the last of the opposition. It had taken awhile to separate the loyalists from the rebels, but now the king was able to deal with them. Lord Tywin had made a grand entrance and now stood next to his daughter and grandson.

Lord Tyrion had been badly wounded and was currently under the care of several healers. Sansa felt a twinge of remorse upon hearing that. Tyrion, despite being a Lannister, had always been kind to her. The Hound, on the other hand, had suffered very little in the battle, and was back at the king’s side with a new cloak. His previous one had been stashed at the bottom of a trunk in Sansa’s room. She had used it as a blanket that night, silently praying to the Mother and the Warrior to keep Sandor safe. Her prayers had been answered. He had not looked at her even once since she had entered the throne room, but she had the eerie feeling he was keeping tabs on her all the same.

Joffrey had abandoned his men not long after the Hound had first taken his leave. Now he sat above them, as if nothing had happened, doling out rewards and later the punishments.

 _Self-rightous little...little...whoreson!_ she thought angrily. It gave her a smug feeling of satisfaction to think such a vulgarity. Septa Mordane would have been displeased, but it made Sansa feel better.

Ser Loras stepped forward with his request. A new brother in the kingsguard. Lord Mace Tyrell was next. A new councillor to guide the boy king. Ser Garlan followed, with a young lady by his side. Sansa’s breath stopped. This was what she had been waiting for. A new queen for the boy king. _Lady Margaery is very lovely,_ Sansa thought, _I feel sorry for her._ Queen Cersei had warned her beforehand of what would happen, and threatened her if she should deviate from the plan. _As if I would,_ she thought. _My freedom from Joffrey is so close!_

She played her part well, and even managed to squeeze a few tears out when she was cast aside. She stepped to the side of the crowd, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The rest of the declarations, good and bad, took a while. Sansa was giddy throughout it all from her newfound freedom, though wisely kept it to herself, hiding her smile beneath her handkerchief. To any who viewed her, she seemed dejected and downtrodden.

*********

It wasn’t until later when Ser Dontos found her in the godswood that she felt the trap close around her again.

“But...in front of everyone...he said…” she was flabbergasted. She had soared so high and had come crashing down to hell in the span of less than a day.

“Oh sweet Jonquil, never fear, your faithful Florian also has good news. I swore to see you home, and now I can. The day has been chosen.”

“”Oh…” Sansa found it ludicrous that the Hound had just offered her an escape and she had turned him down, and now Ser Dontos was telling her a similar offer, though to be fair, she had already accepted Ser Dontos’ offer what seemed a lifetime ago. _Why did I decline Sandor Clegane? He is much more capable than this one_ , she thought to herself. But she knew exactly why, the Lannisters would hunt her and anyone who fled with her, she was too valuable to them. She felt a little bad that she did not care as much about Ser Dontos dying to help her as she did the Hound. Ser Dontos had continued to speak.

“On the night of Joffrey’s wedding, in one turn of the moon, right after the feast, that is when we will make our escape. All the necessary arrangements have been made. The Red Keep will be full of strangers and the confusion of the event will cover our disappearance.” He looked so pleased with himself, she didn’t have the heart to object to any of it. He fumbled with a pouch and drew out a silvery spiderweb of a hairnet. “Here, for you.”

She took it with a small smile, though she did not feel like smiling at all. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”


	4. Cersei: Late Night

Cersei had been pleased with the way Sansa had kept to her part, knowing that the girl would do anything for Joffrey, or at least to keep him happy and calm. That had been the only thing that pleased her, however. She did not trust the Tyrells, and had warned her father against the alliance. She sipped from her wine cup as she looked out from her balcony, but she was so deep in thought, she did not taste the wine nor see the scenery in front of her.

 _I need more information on this Margaery girl. Perhaps she will be easy to manipulate. But if she isn't, I'll need to find something to hold over her, or get rid of her entirely. And that Mace, the oaf, is making himself too comfortable already_. She despised the way he had wriggled his family into the good graces of her father.

She stayed awake late into the night, considering her possibilities.


	5. Sandor: Silence is Deafening

Sandor stood behind a tree, waiting for the fool Dontos to leave. For such a large man, Sandor did not make much sound walking up to Sansa, seated upon a lone bench in the godswood. She looked up, unsurprised that he was there, and smiled grimly. “Would you care to have a seat?” she asked politely.

He did, though it felt a little awkward as he sat down. Inside, he was raging. He had heard enough of their conversation to understand that the fool was planning an escape for her, something he had offered only the night before. He was still trying to figure out how to vocalize his thoughts without yelling when she spoke first.

“Ser Dontos came to me a while ago, and as thanks for saving his life, offered to arrange my escape. It’s funny, I didn’t even think of what would happen to him if he managed to succeed. But you make the same offer, and all I can think is that you would be in danger as well. And now...now I don’t know what to do.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely above a whisper. It quelled his rage a bit, and redirected what was left to the ones that had trapped her here.

“Little bird…” he hesitated. _Nicer, just be a little nicer. No yelling, no bickering, no mocking. You stayed for one reason, HER. Make it worth it. Seven hells, this is going to be difficult._

He struggled with his words, “As much as it angered me to know you considered him to save you when you refused me, I have to say that I think you’re making a mistake. Not because I would be a better choice, but because he is every bit the fool he plays. He just isn’t clever enough to get you out of here. He is working for someone, someone who could be tricking him as well as you, leading you into a trap.”

She nodded glumly, playing with the bauble in her hands. “I had considered that, though not very much, I’m sorry to say. When I agreed to his help, I was at a particularly low point. I wanted out of here, and he offered a way. Now I have...doubts. Countless doubts.“ She seemed to want to say more, but stayed quiet.

“Well, you have until wedding feast to decide.”

“How wonderful,” she said without emotion. Sandor sat with her in silence until she was ready to go back to her quarters.

**********

The long hall they walked down was empty. Sandor felt uncomfortable with the silence but was unable to think of anything to say. In addition to that, Sansa seemed to be walking slower than usual, as if she was not quite ready to retire for the night, but didn’t know what else to do. As they passed by an open doorway, she paused. This particular doorway lead out to a little used balcony. Only the most devout of the residents would use it, and even then only in the mornings. Sandor had never really taken notice of it. The balcony was ideal for private meditation, but in the afternoons, it could become hotter than the deserts of Dorne due to its design and placement to the sun. The evenings were better, but by then everyone was off doing other things and so it was left empty.

Sansa looked at Sandor before continuing out onto the balcony. He could still feel the warmth radiating from the tiles beneath him, but it was just enough to be comfortable on such a cool night.

More silence. Sandor thought he would go mad with it. He stood behind her, watching as she moved closer to the thick stone railing. He remembered when he had found her on the roof platform, and the fear that she would jump now pushed him to move towards her. He stopped when she suddenly spoke.

“If you were in my place, what would you do?” she asked, not turning around.

He snorted. “First off, I’d never find myself in your position. But if for some reason I did, I’d probably tell them to go fuck themselves. And then attempt to take them all down with me.” He chuckled, imagining the little bird doing just that. “While it’d be amusing to see you try it, I doubt that that would be your best route.”

“What other paths are open to me? The king has set me aside, but he’s still likely to find his way into my bed. Only now I will have baseborn instead of trueborn sons.”

Sandor frowned. He knew she was right, but how in blazes did she figure that out?

“An obvious option is to marry. A husband protects his wife, even from a king,” she said wistfully.

Sandor snorted, “Only if the husband is strong enough to stand against said king. And don’t forget, you’re the daughter of a supposed traitor. Anyone who marries you to protect you would have to be completely…” A sudden image sprang into his mind and refused to go away.

Sansa turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue. “Completely what?” she asked when he didn’t.

“What? Oh,” He cleared his throat. “Completely mad.” She looked crestfallen. “Not to marry you, I mean, to stand up to the king. Little snot or not, he is part of a powerful family. Besides, that snake of a queen is probably plotting to marry you off to one of the Lannister men, secure the north for them.”

“Why? Robb is the heir, not me.”

“Ah, little bird, don’t be so short-sighted. Your brother, while putting up a good fight, is at war. Things happen in war, and it only takes one well placed sword or one slip of a defense to bring down a good soldier. A half-second that can change your world. The lions are probably plotting it all out as we speak.”

“I hope it does not come to that. Though not all of their bannermen are so bad,” she smiled up at him. He grunted, though the image in his mind would not go away.

She gazed out to the city below, small lamp lights flickered in the distance. He offered her his arm, which she accepted, and they continued the walk back to her rooms. This time, the silence didn’t bother Sandor as much.


	6. Sansa: Imagine

Sansa closed the door after bidding the Hound good night. She wondered what had possessed her to tell him so much. _He was different, that’s why. Less barking, more listening. Less judgmental too, now that I think about it. He could easily tell the queen everything,_ she thought, but at the same time, she didn’t believe he would. After her handmaiden Shae helped her get ready for bed, and was dismissed, Sansa lay in bed, thinking of the night before. In the dark, she could imagine the Hound above her again, pinning her down to the bed. She had been so sure that he had come for, well, she wasn’t sure exactly what, but something that married couples do together. Her septa hadn’t told her much about what goes on in the marriage bed, wanting to wait until Sansa had "old enough" to have a talk, though she had a vague idea.

Sansa closed her eyes, allowing herself to remember the details more clearly. He had been heavy, not just because of his armor. She had seen her father’s men training, and a few of them without their shirts. _He would be like Jory, I think, only taller and wider._ A man like the Hound would be all muscle, she imagined, so even without the armor, he would bear down on her. _But_ , she thought, _I don’t think he would abuse that advantage_. She thought back to the riot. The memory still scared her, but she remembered how he had rescued her. He had been a bit rough, but careful when handling her. Riding back to castle under his protection had been one of the few times she had felt safe since her father died.

The night she had found him in her bedroom, she had felt an intense joy, just knowing that he was still alive. When he had held her down, part of her had wished that he would at least kiss her. She imagined now what it might be to kiss him. His scars reached down to his lips. Perhaps it would be a mixture of rough and smooth, she thought. She touched her fingertips to her lips lightly.

He was above her again. She could feel his weight. The long strands of hair hung down and tickled her cheek. He dipped forward, kissing her roughly. She pressed her hand to his chest, to push him away or to encourage him, she did not know. She expected to encounter armor, but found only skin. Trailing her hand down she traced the muscles along his front. The other reached up to take hold of the back of his neck. The muscles on the corner of his mouth twitched his amusement. He dipped his head down to nuzzle her breast, she could feel his warm breath through her shift. He whispered in his gravelly voice, “And what would the little bird like next?” as he pressed his body between her legs, sending a tingle through her.

Her eyes flew open and she was alone. _Joff never inspired imaginings like that_ , she thought, a little giddy.


	7. Sandor: Excess Energy

Sandor rose early that morning. He had been doing so a lot lately. After a light breakfast, he was in the training yard before anyone else. Ser Balon and Ser Meryn were scheduled to be guarding the king this morning, with Ser Loras in tow, in order to familiarize him with the king’s daily schedule. This had been going on for a while now, and soon Loras would be entered into the regularly scheduled rounds. Sandor did not like Ser Loras very much, his bright and bubbly personality clashing with Sandor’s silent and dark one.

However, Sandor needed to work some energy off as well, so he was glad for the freedom. Joff had been crowing about his victories, mostly about being able to keep Sansa as his toy. The boy king had either ignored or just didn’t take notice of Sandor’s glowering face. His sworn brothers didn’t know the extent of his displeasure, but they did try to stay out of his way.

He had been around her a considerable amount of time since that night in the godswood. Despite the fact that she was no longer Joffrey’s betrothed, she was still an important chess piece to keep around. Loras and Meryn were usually with the king and queen-to-be, while Sandor was given the honor of guarding Sansa, though Joffrey had also given orders to keep a watchful eye on her and report back anything suspicious or noteworthy. Sandor nodded his agreement, but thought to himself, _Even if the little bird started playing knights and dragons on the rooftop as naked as her nameday in the middle of the night, I would not tell you of it_.

They would talk most times, especially when she stayed in her meager chambers and practiced her sewing and embroidery. She was rather good at it, but could only make small items, and not a full dress, which she desperately needed. Their conversations stayed in the “safe” zones, mostly about the current events of the court, though not of the war raging across the land. She never spoke of her brothers, but on occasion would talk of her sister and her half-brother. Sometimes they just sat or walked the grounds enjoying each other’s company in silence. In the evenings, they would stroll the halls, and ofttimes ended up at the little used balcony. Sansa liked to stargaze from there, falling asleep on Sandor’s shoulder. He enjoyed his time with her, each time he felt his rage and anger at the world slipping away a little more, though he was still surly when she wasn’t around. A few people had remarked on his changed behavior but quickly retracted their statements when he turned a steely glare at them. Nobody ever got around to asking why and he preferred it that way. His time with Sansa was precious. He never knew when it would be taken away, and woe be to the man or woman who threatened it. The only downside to spending so much time with her was that he ended up wanting her even more, and not just physically, though that was still very foremost in his mind. Sansa was proving to be too tempting by half.

Every time he felt his libido go into overdrive, he had done one of two things. Train or lock himself up in his bath with his fantasies. One of the perks of being in the Kingsguard, he had been given an upgraded living quarters. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t have to use the commons bathing area anymore.

However, pleasuring himself in the bath only worked half the time. The rest of it had to be worked off. He had tried going to a brothel, but after the first time, he was unable to return. He left the place feeling dirty and empty. It was useless to use a whore to try and quench his thirst for Sansa. He had been training for a while that day, when he was surprised by the appearance of Ser Loras. “Good morning, Ser,” the young knight called out. By this time, others had gathered in the yard, mostly pages and squires, though a few knights were there as well. 

Sandor grunted at him. “I’m no ser. What are you doing here, Loras? Aren’t you supposed to be shadowing the king and the kingsguard?”

“I am,” the fairer said cheerily. “The king will be here shortly. My dear sister has convinced him to visit the yard. All of the kingsguard available will be asked to demonstrate their skills. I was sent ahead to let everyone know and get ready.”

“So he wants us to show off for his new bride?” Sandor hated the idea.

Loras grinned, “My sister is also most keen to see us at practice. She’ll be bringing along her usual group of ladies,” Sandor had no idea who the usual group was, “as well as a new addition. The king’s former betrothed. Margaery has taken a liking to her. Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten her name. Sandra? Or Sally? No, those names are bit odd. It was something normal.”

“Sansa. Sansa Stark,” Sandor said quietly.

“Oh, yes, that’s it. Anyway, Margaery hopes to befriend Sansa, reforge an alliance with the north. Do you happen to know what she’s like?” Loras was warming up as he spoke.

“No, not really,” Sandor lied. _She’s a delicate, little thing, that dreams of white knights and glorious love, of going home to the north, and doesn’t belong in this pit of vipers we call the capital_.

“Oh? But you’ve been assigned to watch over her most often of all the other guards.”

“It’s not like I was her confidante. I escorted the chit and made sure she stayed out of the way.” _So what if I know her hair is as soft as down, and she smells of lemons and lilacs? That it’s the simple pleasures that bring that sweet smile to her face?_

“Well, yes, but… Here, think of it this way, what is your impression of her?” Loras pressed. “I’ve spent a little time with her, but she seems a bit of fluff head.”

“She didn’t really leave much of an impression. She mostly keeps to herself in order to pray,” Sandor said gruffly. _She is the most sincerely devout person I know, the most loyal, the most patient, the most enduring_.

He was getting annoyed at the man’s persistent questioning. _Why is he so interested in Sansa anyway? It’s not like HE could possibly be interested in her, not with what I’ve heard of him and Ren_ … And then Sandor remembered. Sansa had said it herself. She needed a strong husband to protect her from Joffrey and the Lannister clan. Loras was out, he was a knight of the kingsguard now, but he had brothers. Ser Garlen was already married, but _Willas_ Tyrell was not only unmarried, he was also the heir to Mace Tyrell. If anyone could protect Sansa from the Lannisters, it would be him.

Sandor did not like this line of thought at all. He tried not to think of why and focused on his sword work. Loras tried to ask him more questions, but when Sandor refused to even acknowledge them, he gave up and wandered around the yard, letting the others know of the king’s visit.

Sure enough, the king and queen-to-be arrived with a large entourage. Sandor regretted staying until he saw Sansa. She was too pale, even for a Northerner and especially when compared to the rosy vision that was Lady Margaery Tyrell. Sansa was more comely, however, and Sandor knew it wasn't just his bias opinion. More of the males were watching her than the Tyrell girl, all of them with a gleam of lust in their eyes. He felt a small stab of pride that he was closer to her than any of these other men. _Not like that does you any good, fool. Even if she did ever look at you that way, you're in the same boat as Loras. Not that she would. Buggering fool_. 

He shook his head to clear it and looked up to find Sansa staring at him. The Tyrell girl was speaking with her while stealing glances at him. Sandor frowned. Or was it him, after all? They were far enough away that he could be mistaken. He turned away, disgusted with himself for even entertaining such a thought. 


	8. Sansa: The Hound

"Who is that large fellow with the burn scars?" Lady Margaery asked her. Sansa had been invited to tea with the queen-to-be and her grandmother. It had been a trying morning, to say the least, and she felt she owed Ser Loras an apology for upsetting him earlier, but she still wasn’t sure how she had done it in the first place. Shyly, she glanced over at the brooding man.

Sansa had fallen asleep to imaginings of Sandor nearly every night for the past few weeks, touching herself and pretending it was his hands instead of her own that explored her body. At first, seeing him in person tended to make her blush. She somehow managed to keep it to a minimum, and it helped that most people didn't pay that close attention to her. Now, she was able to keep her head about her and not act like a green girl, more or less. Or so she had hoped as she watched him swinging his weighted practice sword, feeling her face warm slightly and a pleasant tingle start in her lower abdomen. She thought of him fondly, after spending so much time with him. _Is this love?_ she had thought on multiple occasions. Certainly, she felt more strongly towards him than she had ever felt towards Joffrey in the beginning, and he did make her feel things no one had ever made her feel before, but whether it was love or not, she could not determine and was satisfied just being around him for the time being. It would be cruel to voice anything like that and have it turn out to be a maiden’s passing fancy. She kept her eyes on him, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. Margaery kept speaking.

"He's quite a brute, isn't he? Huge, too. Oh! Is that the man known as the Mountain?"

Sansa smiled, knowing that the Hound would have sent the girl running with a glower if he had heard her comparison. "No, Lady Margaery. But you are close. That is Sandor Clegane, the Mountain's younger brother.”   _Rough around the edges, but one of the best men I’ve ever known_ , she thought.

“Oh yes, I should have known from the scars. From battle, perhaps? He and his brother must be fearsome!”

Sansa did not comment on his burns. She wondered briefly when it was that she stopped noticing them. Aloud she said, “Both are very fierce warriors, but..."

Margaery looked over at the man again, "But?"

Sansa frowned, "But the Mountain is more animal than man. If I was ever asked to pick between the two to guard...um...the king, I would have to pick the Hound. The Mountain serves the realm better by being out in the war." _To hopefully never return and torment Sandor again._

"Then it's a good thing he's here as part of my kingsguard and his brother is off defending us in the war." Joffrey walked up behind Margaery. Sansa turned bright red, embarrassed that he had heard, but grateful that she had caught herself and hadn't said "to guard me" while the king was listening. Joffrey would not have let that go.

“Will he be part of the demonstration, Your Grace?” asked Margaery sweetly, distracting him from Sansa. Joffrey had been on his best behavior for his new bride, and Sansa had done her best to not provoke him, though truthfully, it was a lot easier now that Margaery was here. Sansa had enough on her mind with Lady Olenna's proposal this morning and was grateful for the balm that was the new girl's presence.

“I’m sure he will. He is very formidable, and won the Tourney of the Hand, against his brother as well. Pity that Hand turned out to be so treacherous.” Joffrey turned to Sansa, who immediately put up her guard. “Take care not to get too close to this one, my love. She might end up stabbing you in the back.”

 _You’re the only one I wish to stab, “Your Grace”,_ Sansa thought fiercely. She had schooled her features to not betray these thoughts she had been having towards Joffrey more and more. Joffrey only saw a meek, obedient servant of the crown.

“Oh, I’m sure Sansa would never dream of it. If anything, surely I would be a good influence on her, wouldn’t you agree?” Margaery had a talent, one that Sansa hoped to learn from. Joffrey bowed his head to her.

“Of course, we can always hope for the best.” Joffrey sneered at Sansa when Margaery looked away and hissed softly at her, “But we all know you’re not good for anything anymore except to be a bed warmer.”

Sansa looked away, partly to avoid Joffrey and partly because the available kingsguard knights had finished assembling in the yard. Sers Meryn, Osmund, Balon and Loras stood in a line. The Hound was off to the side, relaxing against one of the water barrels, chatting with the newly knighted Ser Bronn.

“Dog!” Joffrey yelled. “Will you not be participating? My lady wishes it so.”

Sandor looked on for a moment, sighed heavily and moved to stand in line next to his sworn brothers. He towered over Loras, his dark clothing contrasting with the younger man’s bright armor. Joffrey marched up in front of them. “Alright, men. This will be a simple demonstration. You will draw lots to determine the matches. The ones that advance will then participate in a melee. The winner will be the last man standing.”

Margaery stepped forward. “If it please Your Grace.” Joffrey motioned for her to come closer. “My ladies and I have decided on a prize for the winner: a kiss from the lady of your choice, of those who are present here.” Sers Meryn and Osmund chuckled at that. “A kiss on the cheek, you scoundrels,” she laughed. “Oh, but Your Grace, you only have five men here. They need a sixth.”

“I’ll happily volunteer, my lady,” Bronn said, stepping forward, a roguish grin on his face. “Anything to please the next queen.” Margaery smiled at him demurely.

"Then I will step back to the audience and let you continue,” she said, bowing to Joffrey.

Joffrey turned to them and motioned to one of the servants standing nearby. The boy, roughly the same age as Joffrey, came forward with a bag and held it open towards the six men. The king gestured to it, "Draw your lots then, and to the mock death you fight!"

After each man drew from the bag, the order of fighting was determined. Bronn would fight Osmund, Balon against the Hound, and Meryn against Loras. Each was given a practice sword and the pairs separated around the yard.

Sansa watched with hidden interest as the Hound struggled in his fight against Ser Balon. Sansa had seen enough from watching her father's men practice to recognize that both men were talented fighters. Loras was the first to win his match, Meryn was more boast than talent. Bronn was next, but only by a stroke of luck in the end. Osmund Kettleblack had tripped over Bronn's fallen sword, sending him crashing down and Bronn was able to recover the win by taking Osmund's sword as his own.

Balon was holding his own against the Hound. They parried back and forth, neither one gaining control for long. Sansa stared intently, praying to the Warrior to keep the Hound's blade steady and true. He glanced up at her at one point, but quickly turned his attention back to the fight. Nearby, Sansa could hear Joffrey make some snide comments about the Hound to Margaery, but Sansa pushed him from her mind. She wanted to see him win. _If he won the matches and the kiss, would he choose me?_ She felt herself blush again.

Finally, luck favored the Hound, and he was able to end the fight when Balon was blinded by the sunlight glinting off of something shiny, but Sansa could not tell what. Joffrey declared it to be the most riveting fight of them all. Balon shook the Hound's hand graciously and congratulated him on the win. The bigger man nodded in return but kept glancing over at Bronn, Sansa noticed. The three victors were granted some time to rest before the next part of the "demonstration".


	9. Sandor: A Fool and His Kisses

" What the hell was that?!" Sandor hissed at Bronn.

"Relax, would you? You were clearly going to win, but Balon is too closely matched to you, especially since you weren't fighting like normal. It would have taken too long. I could see from here that the king was getting antsy. And," Bronn shrugged, "Lady Sansa was worried about you, too, so I just helped the fight go a little faster, that's all." He flashed the silver piece on his wrist for effect.

Sandor glared at him, but took a peek at Sansa, who was talking with one of Lady Margaery's cousins. He refused to believe the sellsword's supposed observation, but a part of him had hoped. He had noticed during the fight that she had her hands clasped to her chest. _Worried, little bird?_ He wanted to believe that, but doubt set in again.

"Keep your concern to yourself. I don't need your help and I couldn't care less if some highborn is 'worried' about me," Sandor snarled.

Bronn merely shrugged again, "Suit yourself. I'll only be looking out for myself in the next bit anyway." He looked over at Sansa, and then back at Sandor, "I plan on choosing her if I win, by the way. Loras probably will too, if he doesn't choose his sister."

Sandor growled, Bronn merely laughed. Sandor would have said something else but Joffrey called for attention to get the melee started.

**********

The premise of the melee was simple enough, if you were knocked out of bounds or where given a “death” blow, you lost, and the last man standing would be declared the winner. Annoyed as he was at Bronn, Sandor made quick work of knocking him out of the makeshift arena. Now, it was just him and Loras. The younger man was a decent fighter, Sandor noticed grudgingly. Fighting against him fair and square would take awhile. _Take him down, quick and dirty_ , a little voice in his head whispered. _But Sansa is watching_ , another voice said. He gave in, he didn’t want to look bad in front of her by being a bad sport over a stupid mock battle, one that he hadn’t intended on participating in to begin with. But he didn’t want to lose either. He remembered how she had looked at Loras the day of the tourney and the Knight of the Flowers had given her a rose. Then he remembered how she had looked at him when he had fought against his brother on Loras’ behalf. And when he had saved her from the crowd the day of the riots. Her eyes had looked to him and only him, even as he walked away he had felt her watching him. _I want that kiss_ , screamed his thoughts. He pushed back against Loras, and his sword arm reaching to the left as he step forward and to the side, then bringing the sword back with all his might, sweeping the Flower Knight’s legs out from under him. It all happened so quickly, Loras went down with a crash, the Hound towering over him, the practice sword at his throat. Sandor grinned at the younger man, “And that is how you do it.” He reached down and offered Loras a hand, which was taken. Loras returned the grin as well.

“How you were never knighted, I will always wonder. Good fight. I was worried that you’d be boring.” He brushed the dust off of his bright armor. It had only been slightly tarnished by the dirt of the yard.

Sandor laughed at that. Of all the things he had been called, boring had never been one of them. He heard a chittering from behind him, and then applause. For a moment, he had forgotten about the audience. The king came forward, clapping as well. He somehow managed to make even his applause sound sarcastic.

“Well done, dog. Lady Sansa was right, after all,” he said, clearly annoyed. Margaery and her ladies were crowded around the other competitors, offering congratulations and condolences. Sansa followed behind Margaery, who was speaking with her brother Loras.

“Right?”

“We were talking about which of the fighters would win at the beginning. Margaery and I said Loras, Sansa said you. I owe her a lemoncake, it would seem.” The boy looked positively disgruntled. “No matter, pleasing Margaery by honoring my debt will be worth it. Though,” he looked up at Sandor with a wicked gleam, “I don’t have to be the one to make sure it happens. Dog, make sure Lady Sansa gets her lemoncake, and that she knows it’s due to my benevolence that she received it.”

Sandor raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded. Lady Margaery was walking towards them, her ladies and Sansa in tow.

“You are the victor, Ser. Which of the ladies would you choose for your prize kiss?” Margaery motioned to the surrounding ladies. Sandor looked them all over, noticing that while they met his gaze, they shrank back a bit as well. His eyes finally landed on Sansa. Her eyes were wide, her breath had quickened, her lips slightly parted, and there was a touch of pink on her pale cheeks. His blood was up from all the fighting, that was the only reason he wanted to ravage those lips, and kiss her senseless, he tried to convince himself.

  
_You won, you buggering fool. Reach out and take your prize already_. He sighed and replied to the queen, “Keep your kisses. They do me no good.”


	10. Sansa: Florian

Later that day, Sansa thought back to the “tournie”. She knew he was going to pick her. She had seen the hunger in his eyes. It was the way her father had looked at her mother, the way the former king had looked at the tavern wenches. _He wants to pick me!_

She had been disappointed when he declined picking anyone, but she knew what his intention would have been and the thought satisfied her for the moment.

Margaery had invited her to go riding with her and her ladies later that afternoon, but Sansa was feeling a little overwhelmed from the morning’s events and declined. She also had a feeling that Joffrey would end up attending, and she had had her fill of him for the day. She bid them farewell and headed off to godswood. After that, she would go back to her quarters. _Maybe Shae would like to luncheon with me?_ she thought, though it was still a bit early to be thinking of the next meal. _Just having some company that I don’t have to speak so carefully to would be nice_ , she thought. She had noticed that Shae would sometimes disappear and suspected that the handmaiden had a special someone in the castle that she would visit. _One of these days, I’ll work up the courage to ask her what goes on in the marriage bed. I just know that she would tell me._

She was praying in the godswood when she heard a rustle of leaves. Dontos had found her. She could tell it was him from the unsteady footsteps and because, despite the distance between them, she could smell the alcohol on him from where she sat. She turned fully to greet him. _I need to deal with this_ , she thought, though unsure of how to go about it.

“Oh, sweet Jonquil. Your Florian has returned with news!” He planted a drunken kiss on her. She waited until he turned his head to wipe the slobber from her face. “The preparations have been made. On the night of the first day of the year, you will leave this wretched place.”

He looked so happy, but Sansa felt so miserable. “Ser...I cannot leave.”

“What? Why not? Have you not been praying for this day?”

 _I cannot leave without HIM_ , she thought. She couldn’t give that as a reason, so she gave the most readily available truth she could. Out loud she said, “The plans are unnecessary now. The Tyrells have invited me to Highgarden, I am to wed Willas Tyrell.” _A small fib_ , she thought. It was mentioned, but no promises had been struck, and besides that, her heart was not in the match.

“You cannot!” Dontos exclaimed in a horrified voice, grabbing her arms. “You cannot trust them, nor go with them anywhere! They are only Lannisters with flowers. I beg of you, forget this folly, give your Florian a kiss, and promise you’ll go ahead as planned.” He tried to plant another kiss on her, but she kept him at arm’s length. He was drunk enough that she didn’t need much force to do so. “The night of Joffrey’s wedding, that is not so far away. A mere three weeks now. Wear the silver hair net and do as I told you, so that afterward we can make our escape.”

She slipped from his grasp, “I won’t. I have a reason to stay. The Hou--” She caught herself before she could finish her sentence. “The _how_ and when is irrelevant. Sanity and reason prevail. Something could go wrong with your plan. When I wanted to leave, you wouldn’t take me, and now I neither need to nor want to.”

Dontos stared at her like the oaf he was. “But the arrangements have been made, the ship to take you home, the boat to take you to the ship, and your Florian to take you to the boat. I did it all for your, sweet Jonquil.”

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you, but I will be staying here. And after Joffrey marries Margaery, I will go to Highgarden with the Tyrells. I will be safe there, Willas will keep me safe.”

“Sweetling, he does not know you, he does not love you. Open your eyes and see, these Tyrells do not care about you, they only care about your claim.”

She knew. And she didn’t care. But for the moment, she let Dontos believe that she did, that his pleas were not falling on deaf ears.


	11. Sandor: Jonquil

Sandor was waiting for her among the trees, hidden from view. Sansa had been deep in prayer, didn’t even know he was there, and he had been feeling restless, otherwise he would have stayed right there beside her. He almost missed seeing Dontos enter from the other side of the clearing. The man was clearly drunk.

He was about to step in when he saw Dontos kiss her, but stayed in place when she vigorously wiped the fool’s kiss from her lips. Dantos didn’t notice, and the little bird’s mask of courtesy was back in place before he realized anything was amiss. _What is she playing at?_ Sandor thought.

He listened intently. He felt the breath leave his body when he heard her say she was to marry Willas Tyrell. _When the fuck did that happen?!_ he thought. As soon as he had turned away from her, he had regretted not claiming his prize, but now it felt like a punch to the gut.

Willing his mind to calm, he focused back on their conversation. Dontos tried to kiss her again, but to Sandor’s relief, Sansa kept him at bay. He thought it odd that Dantos was insisting that she wear a hairnet to the king’s wedding. Sansa did not seem to notice however. She was insisting that she did not need Dontos any longer, that she needed to stay. He could have sworn she almost said his nickname, but if she had, she caught herself in time so he wasn’t sure.

Dontos was trying to convince her that his plan would be best, but Sansa was unmoved. Finally, she looked away, as if considering. Sandor saw her expression, she was dead set on not following Dontos’ plan, but was unable to convince him otherwise.

She nodded her head in agreement with the former knight, though the expression on her face was that of stone.

Dontos happily bid her adieu and left, stumbling along the path out of the godswood. Sansa’s shoulders drooped and she gracefully threw herself down on the ground. Sandor raised an amused eyebrow at that.

"Little bird, are you alright?” he asked.

She did not look up, leaving her face buried in the crook of her arm, her hair splayed out about her. “I’ve been better,” came the muffled reply.

Sandor snorted, “I’ll say. What was that all about? When was it decided that you’re marrying that Tyrell cripple?”

She looked up. “That? Oh, that was just a little fib. I thought he would be convinced that I wouldn’t want to go if I said that. And, really, it was only half a fib.” She patted the ground next to her. Sandor was confused, but took a seat. She wriggled around a bit, laying her head on his lap so that she was now looking up at the sky and him. She had gotten quite comfortable leaning on him when she was tired in the past few weeks. Sandor had objected at first, more for her sake then his own, but she had been persistent and he had eventually given up.

“And that Jonquil and Florian muck?”

She winced at that. “Dontos likes to think of himself as Florian and me as Jonquil, from the song. It’s...embarrassing, yet somewhat accurate.”

“Huh.” He was surprised by that. “So...Half a fib then?” he asked to change the subject, trying not to let the anxiousness he felt be reflected in his voice.

“Yes. Only half. I was invited to tea with Margaery and her grandmother today. They wanted to ask me about Joffrey.” She paused.

“What did you tell them?” Sandor prompted. He saw her eyes start to glisten as the tears built up. She raised her arm over her eyes, covering them.

She whispered, “The truth.”

Sandor blinked. “The truth? As in...all of it?”

She nodded, her arm still covering her eyes. “I couldn’t stand an interrogation by _her_. I told them every sordid detail. I couldn’t stop once I started.”

Sandor pondered this for a moment. “What did they say?”

The question seemed to calm her down. She answered, “They’re still going through with the wedding. Mace Tyrell is set on his daughter becoming queen. And Margaery assures me that Ser Loras will keep her safe. Must be nice having a brother you can count on like that,” she said sadly. She removed her arm from her face. Her eyes were a little red, and her sleeve was damp, but she wasn’t crying.

“Your brother is fighting a war, little bird,” he reminded her. She sighed, but made no reply. He coughed and continued nonchalantly, “And what about marrying Willas?”

“That came after. Lady Olenna offered to take me to Highgarden, and that I could meet and possibly marry Willas. I did not want to offend her, so I did not decline, but I did not accept it either.” She sighed again.

“You are getting better at it, little bird,” Sandor said.

“Better at what?”

“Playing the game,” he answered.

She rolled her eyes at that, “I’m just trying to survive. If I could do it another way, I would. I’m not strong. Not like...not like Arya. She would spit in their faces and tell them to go to the Seven Hells. She would fight them every step of the way.”

“I can teach you some things, if you really want to be able to defend yourself, but with her way, she would be dead very quickly,” Sandor surmised. Sansa shook her head.

“I don’t think she would be. She has so much spirit in her. She’ll survive, too. Somehow. I believe that. I have to believe that.” Her eyes started to glisten again, but this time, she did not need to cover her eyes. The tears did not fall.

“Little bird--” he started, but did not know what to say next. She didn’t question him, and they stayed there together until it was time to escort her back to her chambers.

She rose first, knocking the dust from her dress, and before he could stand, she planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He looked at her in surprise. “For earlier,” she said, smiling shyly and walked out of the godswood ahead of him. He wondered if it was for the mock tournie prize or for listening to her.

 _Does it really matter? Buggering fool_ , he thought with a grin.


	12. Tyrion: Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Tyrion dreaded the talk they needed to have. He had been dreading it ever since he had been told early that morning. He knew he would have to tell her, but he didn’t want to ruin the current moment. After being apart from her for so long, Shae had been able to sneak away for the evening and was currently lying in his bed, snuggled up to him very cozily. She was happy with their current situation. For gods sakes,  _HE_ was pretty damn happy too. Sure, it would be nice if he was still the Hand, if his already questionable face hadn’t been so badly damaged and if they didn’t have to sneak around, but all in all, life wasn’t bad. His father’s decision would change all that. 

Tomorrow, he would wake up a bachelor who had time for a mistress, and at the end of the day, he would go to bed a married man without a mistress. Married, he couldn’t believe it. His first marriage still hung over him bitterly, and now this. On top of all that, not married to this goddess in his arms, but to Sansa Stark, a child who feared the Lannisters, though seemed to tolerate his own presence well enough.  _Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, married to Sansa. Shae would end up joining my household, and maybe, just maybe, I could work out an agreement with my lady wife. I get to stay with Shae, and she gets...whoever she’d like as a consort_ . He really had no idea who she would prefer in her bed, but as long as she bore him a child, he wouldn’t particularly care.  _Seven hells, I’ve had too much wine, even the idea of her raising my bastard by Shae is sounding good, pass it off as Sansa’s child. We could go on a long journey, leave before Sansa starts to “show”, and come back with a baby._

He suspected Sansa’s time with the Hound had toughened her up, which led him to think that she might be more acceptable of his proposal, though that would have to wait until after the wedding. His thoughts veered towards the unlikely pair, the Wolf and the Hound. He had wondered why the burned man had been assigned to watch her instead of guarding the king, but after meeting Lady Margaery, he had all his answers. Beautiful and smart, Margaery had Joffrey wrapped around her little finger. She had convinced him to let Loras be their guard. Meryn had become a favorite of Joff’s, so he was kept as well, leaving the Hound without a master. Sansa, needing a watchdog, had been given into his “care”. It was rare to see Sansa without the Hound following close behind her nowadays.


	13. Sandor: Ignorance Was Bliss

He knew something was up. The castle was a buzz with work, more so than usual. The Queen Regent had sent for him, something she did not do so often anymore.

“Hound, I have a task for you.” The Cersei he knew and distrusted never simply _asked_ , she commanded and expected everyone to obey. He had yet to disobeyed her. But he had often wondered “ _Would a “please” now and then kill you?”_ He had been around his little bird and her courtesies for a while now, and it made him realize that while Sansa might overdo it, Cersei was really quite rude.

“What is your will, Your Grace?” he asked. As much as he wanted to, it would not do to actually talk back to her.

“My _brother_ is getting married today. I am to escort the bride to the wedding, and I want you to be there with me should she need, let’s say, a firm hand. Wear your best armor and cloak. I won’t have us escorted with you in rags.”

“As it please, Your Grace. I did not realize that the Imp had been betrothed.”

“It was a sudden thing,” she waved it off. “Circumstances arose that required swift action. Go now, bathe and change so that you may return swiftly.”

“At once, Your Grace.” Sandor bowed, and did as he was told.

**********

Sandor did the best he could to clean himself up. _But only so much can be done to a face like mine_ , he thought. He returned to Cersei’s apartments just over an hour later. Ser Osmund was there as well, along with a few of Cersei’s handmaidens. Together, they all walked to fetch a bride for the Imp.

Sandor hadn’t asked who the bride was, had not considered it. So when he realized whose room they were heading to, he had to steel himself against the possibility. When he found the little group in front of Sansa’s door, he felt like he had been punched in the gut. _The little bird and the Imp_. It made sense, and yet, he still wanted to slice through all of the people here. _Why don’t you?_ a voice asked. He shoved the thought away. He knew why. It didn’t matter who she married, as long as she was safe. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself, but the anger that burned in him was not mollified and it was all he could do to not react.

Her handmaiden Shae open the door to them. She looked as depressed as Sandor felt, as she admitted Cersei and the other handmaidens inside. Sandor and Osmund waited outside her door for the time being. _Does Sansa know?_ he wondered. _Surely the handmaiden must have told her._ But Sansa was blissfully unaware that she was even being married, at least at first. Sandor could hear the conversation from inside her room.

“You can’t make me,” he heard her say. Part of him was proud of her for standing up for herself, the other part knew she would suffer if she did it too much.

“Of course we can,” scoffed Cersei. “You are a ward of the crown. Now come along quietly and say your vows as befits a lady. Or struggle and scream and made a spectacle of yourself. It doesn’t matter, you will be wedded and bedded before this day ends.” Cersei opened the door again, revealing Sandor and Osmund. The little bird was in such shock that she didn’t seem to see him at all.

“Escort Lady Sansa to the sept. Carry her if you must, but try not to tear the gown, it was very costly.” Cersei was in no mood to repeat herself on this. Sansa tried to escape, but ran right into Sandor. Her handmaiden caught her before she fell. She stared up at him, fear in her eyes.

Osmund, to his credit, spoke softly to her, to calm her down, “Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?”

She looked at Osmund, and then back at Sandor. His heart broke for her, but he couldn’t stop this, “We’ll be with you every step of the way, you needn’t be afraid.”

She stared at him, then turned to Cersei, steeling herself against this new turn. “I’ll go.”

Cersei smiled, like the cat that ate the canary. She took Osmund’s arm, leaving Sansa to Sandor. He offered her his own arm, which she accepted, her handmaiden following a respective distance behind them. Around them, he could hear the chatter of the ladies and of Cersei and Osmund. It felt surreal, walking arm in arm with Sansa, escorting her to her wedding to another man. _Not just any man, the Halfman. The whores tell tales of him, he’s very good with his tongue, and he’s practically got a third leg._ Sandor didn’t like it. He had never hated the Imp before, maybe wished him bodily harm on more than a few occasions, but now that he would be able to have husbandly privileges with Sansa... _I should have left that night and never looked back._ An angry voice whispered at that, _Not likely, you buggering fool. She wished you to stay, and stay you did. All she has to do is ask you, and you’d do it. If she asked you to kill everyone here, you'd do it before she finished saying it._

  
He knew it, had known it, but had been trying to deny it. He was hers. His body, mind and soul were hers to command. Now that he had finally admitted the truth to himself, it was too late.


	14. Cersei: A Mother’s Worries

Cersei was beaming. Everything was coming together nicely. Tomorrow she would come up with a plan to avoid wedding Willas Tyrell, but today was all about making her youngest brother suffer.

She knew he did not want to marry Sansa Stark, though it was a much better match than he should ever hope for. He had some silly notion of marrying someone he loved. As if love had anything to do with marriage, her time with Robert had shown her that.

Osmund was whispering to her, “Maybe after the ceremony, you and I can find a quiet spot together?”

She smiled at him, “Perhaps. We’ll see.” She had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She knew men like Osmund. She was a prize to them, and once they had her, that would be it. Smile at him, flirt with him, tease him with a kiss here and there, but as long as she had a use for him, there was no way she would let him have what he wanted.

She turned to check on the two behind her. She smirked as she saw that the Hound practically had to hold the girl up as they walked. Cersei was tempted to tell him to just throw the girl over his shoulder, but held her tongue since Sansa  was  cooperating for the moment.

The day was pleasant as they walked to the sept. A few birds were flitting about, singing their melodious songs. The sun was out, a nice breeze was gracing the land and the world just seemed brighter.

Then Cersei noticed Joff waiting on the steps of the sept. She frowned,  _What is he doing out here?_ Her son had become more erratic as of late, and this did not bode well. She knew Sansa was one of Joffrey’s favorite “toys”, so maybe he was here waiting to gloat and taunt her, but Cersei’s instincts were saying otherwise. She tried to stay behind, but Joff waved her off. Osmund guided her into the sept with a firm hand, and the Hound followed behind, his large frame blocking her view. She missed his worried look as he walked past her. She stayed near the entrance, waiting to see Joff or Sansa come through those doors. She felt only relief when she saw him enter after only a few moments.

“Joff--” 

“Not now, Mother. I must speak to the Septon,” he said as he pushed past her. Cersei tried to follow him, but was shut out of the septon’s quarters at Joffrey’s order.


	15. Sansa: A Walk To The Lion’s Den

The walk down the hallway and out into the bright sun was crushing. Sansa shrank into her mind. She was  _not_ on her way to wed Tyrion Lannister, nor was she going to wed Willas Tyrell. Suddenly, an image rose in her mind, instead of a red one, she would be given a yellow cloak, with three black dogs on it. She would not become a lion, or a flower, she would be a fierce bitch, with her loyal Hound standing beside her. The gods help anyone that stood in their way.

These thoughts helped to calm her racing heart, despite the truth of it all. She looked up at the tall, scarred man beside her.  _I could marry him_ , she thought.  _No, I WANT to marry him. Tyrion protected me, but Sandor not only protected me, he also cared for me, in his own way. He is the one I go to sleep thinking about, he’s the one who enters my dreams. He is the one I look for in a crowd, the one who I can talk to, and who understands me, as I understand him._ The injustice of it all, realizing the extent of her feelings for him while he walked her to her own wedding. She felt like crying.  _A lady does not show her emotions. The Hound, no, SANDOR would not want me to show them my weakness. Wear your courtesies like armor. Oh, Mother, hear my prayer, I will endure any hardship, but please let me stay near him._

She wiped away the moisture at her eyes. “Are you alright, little bird?” she heard him ask quietly.

“No, but I will be. Please, just stay by my side as long as possible. I might faint otherwise,” she whispered back.

“Aye, little bird, I can do that for you.” He patted her hand. “Just know that I am here for you.” 

The king was waiting for them on the steps of the sept. He motioned for his mother to continue on inside, though Sansa noticed that she seemed hesitant to do so. Sandor and Osmund followed behind the queen, leaving her alone with her former betrothed and soon-to-be-nephew. Shae had also stayed behind, but kept herself at a distance.

“I’m your father today,” he announced to Sansa. He seemed very pleased with himself.

Anger rose in her breast as Sansa’s eyes narrowed, appalled at the gall he had. “You are  _not_ and you will never be even a tenth of the man he was.”

Joffrey’s face contorted with rage as his voice became more shrill. “I am. I’m your father, and I can marry you to whoever I like. To anyone. You’ll marry the pig boy if I say so, and bed down with him in the sty.” His green eyes glittered wickedly. “Or maybe I should give you to Ilyn Payne? Maybe the Hound would suit you better? What say you to that?”

Sansa pushed her shoulders back and said defiantly, “Marrying Sandor Clegane would be preferable to being  _your_ aunt.”

“Children, if you please, you are in front of a holy place,” Tyrion interrupted. Sansa took a step back. She hadn’t noticed him approach at all. She felt shame at what the short man must have inferred from her statement. If he had heard her, he made no sign of it and continued speaking, “Your Grace, grant me a moment alone with Lady Sansa, if you would be so kind?”

Joffrey looked like he was about to refuse, but said instead, “Fine, I needed to speak to the High Septon anyway.” He walked away in a huff, leaving Sansa alone with Tyrion.

“You look very beautiful today, my lady,” Tyrion said. His eyes flitted past her, making her wonder if he was truly speaking to her. Before she could say anything, he continued, “Sansa, this is no way to bring you to your wedding and I am sorry for that. And for making this so sudden, and so secret. My lord father felt it necessary, for reasons of state. Else I would--”

“What reasons?” Sansa interjected, a cold feeling settling into her chest. 

“It’s nothing of interest to you…” he tried to say, but her intense gaze and his own feelings of guilt broke him down rather quickly. He looked around to make sure no one was listening and said in a quiet voice, “Lord Baelish informed my lord father that the Tyrells were making plans to whisk you away to Highgarden to marry their heir, Willas.”

It was like the earth had sudden disappeared below her. “Lord Baelish did? Why? How?”  _I only told Dontos, and the Tyrells wouldn’t have told anyone. That can only mean…_ She felt the bands of coldness squeezing her heart tighter.  _This is my fault!_

“Who knows why Littlefinger does what he does? I’ve been trying to figure it out since I heard. Lady Sansa, I know you did not ask for this marriage. No more than I did. If I had refused you, however, they would have wed you to my cousin Lancel, though perhaps you would prefer that. He is nearer your age, and fairer to look upon. If that is your wish, say so, and I will arrange for it immediately.”

_I don’t want any Lannister, fair or not. I want Sandor, I want Winterfell, I want sons named Eddard and Bran and Rickon, I want puppies and horse rides through the woods._ She remembered what he had said once, that a man would have to be completely mad to marry her in order to protect her from the king.  _Mad or related to the king is more accurate_ , she thought, feeling defeated.

“You are kind, my lord, but I am a ward of the throne, and my duty is to marry as the king commands, whether it’s to his uncle, or to the pig boy.”

He watched her, his intelligent eyes full of sorrow. “I know I am not the sort of husband young girls dream of, but neither am I Joffrey.”

She smiled a true smile. “No, you are not. Nor are you the pig boy, thankfully. You were kind to me. You are not like the others.”

  
“That is quite possibly the nicest thing I’ve ever been told. Come, then. Let us do our duty.” He held out his hand and led her into the sept.


	16. Sandor: Raven and Crow

Sandor felt sick. Sick from anger and disgust at the House he had served for so long.

Sansa looked so beautiful in her family’s colors. Her dress was most becoming on her, the proud direwolf blazing on her maiden’s cloak. She had felt so small on his arm as he led her to the sept, as if one good puff of air would take her away forever.

He felt impotent, unable to help her. _The Imp, why of all people could they wed her to the Imp?!_ She, who was so beautiful, like the Maiden made flesh, to _him_ , a grotesque little monster. _Raven calling the crow black, you fool. The only differences between you two is height and wealth._ He knew that was not all, but for the moment, self-pity was the only thing he indulged in.

He shook his head. At least the Imp was kind, unlike other members of the Lannister clan. But it didn’t change anything. It was still horribly unfair to Sansa. _And you consider it unfair to yourself as well, fool. You are a monster like him, but he’ll get to bed her every morning, noon and night if he so chooses. You can lie to anyone else, but you cannot lie to yourself. Your own fantasies betray you._


	17. Sansa: Wedding Day Blues

The septon waited for her and Tyrion between the Mother and the Father, ready to join their lives together. She could see Dontos in his motley, standing beside Moonboy. He gave her a hopeful look, though she could not figure out why.

Most of the kingsguard was also present, Ser Loras being the only one absent who should have been available to attend. It struck her then, not a single Tyrell was present. There were plenty of witnesses otherwise, though she noticed that Lord Tywin was also missing.  _Perhaps distracting the missing Tyrells?_ She stood there, before the septon, ready to devote herself to the most unlikely of husbands, in a secret ceremony. Her mouth twitched with slight amusement.  _Actually, the only more unlikely husband would be…_

“Dog! Meryn! To me!”

Sansa looked up. Joffrey was striding forward, with Sandor and Ser Meryn close at his heels. Tyrion was frowning. “Now what? We were just about to begin,” he exclaimed.

The septon shifted nervously.  _He had been expecting this?_ she asked herself.

“There’s been a change of plans. Meryn, take mine uncle to the audience, keep him there if he tries to interfere.” Tyrion went without much fuss, confused as he was. Cersei stepped forward.

“Joff, what are you--”

“Silence, Mother. Ser Balon, keep her back. Now, Sansa here made a statement earlier, expressing her true desire for a husband.” The wicked gleam in his eyes was back, Sansa noted. She backed up in fear, trying to remember all that she had said to Joffrey. “So, in my graciousness, I have decided to grant her this boon. She will  _not_ be wedding my uncle today.”

The crowd gasped, conversations breaking out all over. Cersei looked ready to faint, while the eunuch Varys looked positively thrilled by the entertaining turn of events. Sandor had to thump his armor, which made an echoing ring through the sept, to get the crowd settled down. “No, she will not marrying my uncle. She will be marrying…” he paused for effect, “my  _dog_ .” Joffrey cackled gleefully.

Sandor did a double-take, “ _What?_ ”

Sansa went still as the crowd erupted into chaos. Could it possibly be true? Was this another trick? Joffrey pushed Sandor to the altar and ordered the septon to begin, adding that he was relieving Sandor of duty as a kingsguard. Cersei really had fainted, and Tyrion was trying to argue with Ser Meryn to let him stop this mockery. Dontos had disappeared somewhere. The rest of them didn’t know what to do and just stood there as it happened.

The ceremony passed as in a dream. Sansa did all that was required of her. The prayers, the vows, the singing. There were tall candles burning, a hundred dancing lights that the tears of joy in her eyes transformed into a thousand. If anyone noticed her crying, they did not say. Anyone who saw her would assume it was because she did not want to be married to this man. Thankfully, not one of them said anything. In what seemed no time at all, they came to the changing of the cloaks.

As “father” of the realm, Joffrey took the place of Lord Eddard Stark. Sansa stood stiff as a lance as his hands came over her shoulders to fumble with the clasp of her of her cloak. One of his hands brushed her breast and lingered to give it a squeeze. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Sandor growl at that. The clasp opened and Joff swept her maiden’s cloak away with a kingly flourish and a grin. Sandor’s part went just as well. He had worn his white cloak, but someone had raced to his rooms and found his family cloak, yellow with the three dogs on it. It was handed to him wordlessly, and he swept the cloak over her shoulders, and fastened the clasp. He leaned forward, as if to kiss her, but stopped short. 

She took his hands in hers, “With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

Hoarsely, he said in his low voice, “With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

He finally did kiss her, lightly, but lingering.

The septon raised his crystal high, so that the rainbow light fell down upon them. “Here in the sight of gods and men,” he said, “I do solemnly proclaim Sandor of House Clegane and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Sandor’s expression was unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to those of ya'll who called it. :) Once daily updates resume tomorrow.


	18. Tyrion: Breath of Relief

Tyrion thought it was a joke at first, but then, this entire day had seemed like one big joke. Shae had been waiting, looking as beautiful as ever, as Sansa and Joffrey fought in front of the sept. She had shrugged her shoulders at Tyrion as if to say, “They’re children, what can we do?”

He had heard the last remark Sansa had made. He knew what she had meant by it, that it was being related to Joffrey that she found distasteful, not necessarily marrying Tyrion, but he had to admit that it hurt to hear that. He had forgiven her with her last comment, it really _was_ the nicest thing that had ever been said to him.

Together, followed by Shae, they entered the sept. He had stood before the altars of the Father and the Mother, ready to pledge his life to Sansa of House Stark. And that’s where all of the Seven Hell’s broke loose. Next thing he knew, Ser Meryn was holding back in the crowd.

“Ser! I beg you, this farce must be stopped!”

“Shut it, Imp. King’s orders stand as is. It’s not everyday a dog gets to marry a wolf. And you never know, Clegane may be generous and let you fuck her after he’s done with her,” he said without emotion. Tyrion wanted to punch Meryn’s face, but the damned man was too tall.

Tyrion looked over at Shae, who had her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her expression, but Tyrion knew her better than anyone. _Is she...SMILING??_ He looked back at the couple in front of the septon. Clegane’s back was to him, but he could see Sansa. He paused, studying her features. _She’s...she’s smiling too?_ His mind raced at the possibilities. First thought, and quickly discarded, marrying any other man would have been preferable to her. He thought back, to Sansa's behavior, to Sandor's, and it clicked, slowly, into place. _No, it’s more than that. She’s happy...BECAUSE it’s the Hound!_

He looked around at the other guests. No one else seemed to notice. Cersei had fainted and had been taken away by Ser Osmund, and their illustrious father was nowhere to be seen.

 _Well, this is unexpected_ , he thought, as he settled down to enjoy a wedding.

********

After the ceremony, Tyrion took Shae aside.

“My lord Tyrion,” she purred in her thick accent. “Did the wedding put you in the mood? I know it did for me.” He remembered that she once commented that everything made her want to fuck.

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say no to that, but first, I have something to ask you.” She shrugged and sat down on a nearby bench to listen to him. “Is Sansa in love with the Hound?”

Shae grinned. “Why? Are you jealous, my lord?” she asked teasingly. Tyrion gave her a look. “Well, she has not said it out loud, but yes, she is.”

“When did that happen?”

Shae thought about it, “Hmmm, sometime after the battle at the bay, I believe, though they had been ‘flirting’ before that. And his saving her during the riot certainly put him in a good light. When we were with your sister in Maegor’s, the queen went a little batty. I told her to go to her chambers and lock herself in. The next morning, I find her sleeping in the corner with a dirty white cloak covering her. I cannot say for sure, but I believe it to be the cloak belonging to Clegane. After that,” she paused, looking thoughtful, “after that, he was assigned to guard her, but he spent more time _with_ her than actually guarding. I hear them sometimes, talking. Before that, she had only me to talk to.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, “Were _you_ jealous?”

It was Shae’s turn to give him a look, “Why would I be jealous of an angry, scarred man? Anyway, after they spend time together, she would hum.”

“Hum?”

Shae nodded. “It is something she does when she’s happy. She is not aware of it, I think. Anyway, she looked forward to seeing him, and would always hum a happy song after. Sometimes, in her sleep, she would say his name. Not Hound, his true name. But, most of all, it is the look in her eyes when she looks at him, that lets me know she is in love.”

“Interesting. How did no one else notice this?” Tyrion wondered out loud.

A voice piped up, “Considering only Clegane was watching her, and he hasn’t noticed, and Shae is devoted to her mistress and wouldn’t speak of it to anyone, it’s not really _that_ surprising.” Tyrion turned to find Varys skulking in the shadows.

“Varys, you mean to say you didn’t know either?” Tyrion asked, but not believing it.

“Oh, I knew there was something going on, but I did not realize it had progressed this far. I do have seven kingdoms to serve, you know.” Varys seemed pleased with himself, nonetheless.

“And her almost marrying me?”

“That, I’m afraid, was out of my area of influence. But when I heard that the king was changing things up, I wisely kept my mouth shut.”

“My father will probably disagree,” Tyrion noted. Shae giggled.

“Probably. But how could I have heard the conversation between the High Septon and our good king? They were behind closed doors, doors of wood five inches thick, and stone walls more than a foot thick,” Varys said slyly. “I couldn’t possibly know, no one except the king and the High Septon could know what was said between them.”

  
Tyrion rolled his eyes.


	19. Sansa: Feast

The wedding feast was held in the Small Hall, with around fifty guests. Mostly Lannister men and allies, joining those that had been at the wedding. The Tyrells were also there. Margaery gave her such a sad look. She could only imagine what this looked like. From Willas, to Tyrion, and finally Sandor. Lady Olenna kept to herself and her guards, and did not look at Sansa at all. Margaery’s ladies ignored her as well. _My friends_ , she thought wryly. _If only they knew…_ She had half a mind to tell them, but decided it would be better to keep the truth to herself for now.

At least until she saw how Sandor was reacting to the entire event. Her new husband drank heavily and ate only a little. He listened when someone made a toast, and sometimes even gave a curt acknowledgement, but otherwise, he just sat there, as unmoved as a boulder. Worry began to set in. _Does he not want me for his wife?_

The feast seemed to go on forever. Despite her happiness at the turn of events, she was unable to eat much either. She was nervous about the bedding ceremony. Being carried up to her wedding bed, being undressed along the way, and rude jokes being thrown at her was not her idea of fun. She wondered if she could manage to convince them to let them walk up on their own, though she didn’t think she had enough influence to do so. The thought of having the real Sandor in her bed and not just an imagining of him thrilled her to the core. It made the thought of the preceding parade a little more bearable, but not by much.

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Sandor’s and asked, “My lord, should we lead the dance?”

His mouth twisted in a cruel smile and he sneered, “I think we have already given them enough entertainment for one day, don’t you, little bird?”

Confused, she pulled her hand back. “As you say, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “What would you like me to call you then? Husband?”

“Nothing. I am but a dog, begging for scraps at my master’s table.” He drank deeply from his cup. “Nothing but a dog.”

Sansa said nothing. She knew any argument she made would be dismissed, but she continued to watch her new husband with concern. She lay her hand over his, half expecting him to throw it off, but when he didn’t, she left it there.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. _How can someone as terrible as him dance so well?_ she wondered. She really wanted to dance with Sandor, but his mood seemed to be growing fouler as the feast wore on. Others joined in, even Lord Tywin, who had finally made an appearance. He had had words with Joffrey, but Sansa couldn’t even begin to guess the details.

“Lady Sansa,” Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. “Would you honor me? If your lord consents?”

The Hound’s eyes narrowed. “Not until I have the first dance.” He grabbed her hand and led her out on to the floor. Despite his inebriated state, he danced fairly well.

“My lo--” she caught herself. “I mean, are you feeling ill? We can dance later. I don’t want to put you out.”

“Always with your courtesies, little bird,” he snarled. “I am perfectly able to dance with my own _wife_ at our wedding feast.”

 

She frowned. Something was definitely amiss. His demeanor was even worse that how it used to be before the Battle. She would not let him destroy the friendship that they had built up. She grabbed the side of his neck, and pulled him down so that his face was closer to hers. “ _Then stop acting like an ass and enjoy this dance with me._ I will _not_ have my husband mocked for being unhappy before our first night of marriage has even begun.” Softer, she added, “Or am I so distasteful a wife that you are unable to be happy?”

He looked shocked at her upbraiding of him and shook his head.

Still speaking softly, she said, “Then please, don’t look at me with such a monstrous face. They’re all already looking like they expect you to eat me up at any moment.”

“This is the only face I have,” he said sourly. She pinched his earlobe to scold him, but then stroked it so that he knew she wasn’t angry.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looked at her with doubt in his eyes, but said nothing for the rest of the dance.

**********

 

Ser Garlan took the next dance. He was very light on his feet. She was smiling, letting the music take her, losing herself in her steps. _Let Sandor stew a bit_ , she thought. _If he sees me having fun, maybe it’ll make him want to have fun too._ After a few turns around the dance floor, Ser Garlan said quietly, “My lady wife is concerned for you.”

Sansa looked at him in confusion, but smiled. “Lady Leonette? Whyever for? She is too sweet. Tell her I am well.”

“A bride at her wedding should be more than well. You seemed close to tears,” he said with concern.

“Tears of joy, ser,” she said softly, with a shy grin. She was still afraid that this could be taken away.

“If you say so, my lady. I have seen how you look at my brother Loras,” Sansa tried to remember the last time she had thought so fondly of the Knight of Flowers as she did now of Sandor. It seemed forever ago. Ser Garlan continued, ignorant of her thoughts, “Loras is valiant and handsome, and we all love him dearly...but your Hound will make a better husband. He is a good man.”

Sansa smiled shyly again, “I know he is.”

The music spun them apart. She danced next with Mace Tyrell, then Lord Merryweather, and then Prince Tommen, who declared he wanted to be married to her too. She gave him a grin, and said, “One day, you’ll find your bride.”

Her partners continued to change, until she came face to face with Joffrey. She stiffened as his hand touched hers, but he kept a tight grip and drew her closer. “You shouldn’t be so sad. My dog is ugly, but you’ll still have me.”

She frowned. “You’re to marry Margaery,” she insisted. Joff just laughed.

“A king can have other women. Whores. And lots and lots of bastards. My dog will bring you to my bed whenever I command it.”

Sansa shook her head furiously, “He won’t.”

He gripped her hand tighter, “He will. He never disobeys me. A king can have any woman he wants, whether they are married or not.” Joffrey leered at her, but thankfully, the music changed again, and she had a new partner, but her legs did not seem to work anymore, and her next few partners must have thought her a very poor dancer indeed. Tyrion, one of the last partners, tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t quite concentrate on what he was saying.

“Forgive me, Lord Tyrion, I seem to be out of sorts right now. May we speak about this another time?”

“Of course, my lady. When you are feeling better,” he replied graciously.

Finally, she was with Ser Garlan again, and the dance ended. He led her back to her husband and thanked her for the honor.

No sooner had she sat down then she heard Joffrey calling for the bedding. “It’s time to bed them! Let’s get those clothes off her and have a look at what a she-wolf has to offer a dog!” A few other men joined in, but most stayed quiet.

Sandor rose from his seat. “I’ll have no bedding.”

Joffrey grabbed Sansa, “You will if I command it.”

The Hound slammed his dinner knife down into the table. “Then you’ll service your own bride with a wooden prick,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

A silence fell. Cersei exclaimed, “Clegane! Watch how you speak to your king!”

Lord Tywin intervened. “I believe we can dispense with the bedding. Sandor, I am _certain_ you did not mean to threaten the king’s royal person.” He looked pointedly at Sandor.

Sandor looked at the king and said dryly, “Yes, my lord. I misspoke. It was a bad jape, is all.”

Joffrey’s mouth gaped like a fish, he was in such shock. “You threatened to geld me?!”

“I did, Your Grace.” Sandor said solemnly. “But only because I envy your royal manhood. I could never match the stamina and vigor of one as youthful as you.”

Ser Osmund laughed at that. A few others chuckled and sniggered, but Joff did not. Neither did Lord Tywin. “Your Grace, forgive this man. He is too drunk to think properly, as you can clearly see.”

Sandor nodded, “I am, but not so drunk that I cannot handle my own bedding.” He stepped down from the dais, picked Sansa up and threw her over his shoulder. “Come, wife. We’re going to play put-the-dog-in-the-kennel.”

Deeply embarrassed, but grateful to be alone with Sandor, she let herself be carried away from the Small Hall. They had been granted new rooms befitting the status of Lord and Lady Clegane. The view overlooked the bay and would be beautiful come the daylight. Shae was already there, ready to help Sansa prepare for bed. Sandor helped himself to a flagon of Arbor Gold while Sansa disappeared into the bathing room.

**********

Sansa got into the bath Shae had prepared. Her handmaiden scrubbed her well, washing away the dirt of the city. As the girl washed Sansa’s hair, she finally gathered up her courage to ask.

“Shae..”

“Yes, my lady?” She was working the suds from Sansa’s scalp down to the tips of her red hair.

“Um...this might be a bit forward, but...would you, if you don’t mind, and if you are able to, of course, tell me what I should be expecting when I enter the bedchamber?” Sansa blushed furiously.

Shae looked surprised, but laughed and said, “Of course, my lady. You must be very happy about this turn of events.”

Sansa looked away, “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  
“Of course, my lady. How could you possibly be happy about marrying the man you call out for in your sleep?” Shae teased. “Well, just the basics for tonight. I can tell you more later, ok?” Sansa nodded happily, though the blush refused to go away.


	20. Sandor: Highborns and Whores

Sandor had drunk nearly all the wine, though the flask had been only half full to begin with.  _Cheap bastards, can’t even give a newly married man a full flagon?_ He still wasn’t sure if fortune was smiling on him or had thrown him to the seven hells. From where he sat on the bed, he could see where Sansa had left her new cloak.  _Sansa of House Clegane_ . He still couldn’t believe it had happened. What was it Joff had said? That Sansa had “requested” to marry him instead of the Imp? He wasn’t sure now. The entire thing had become a blur. Though the fierce side she had shown him when they danced had been intriguing. He hadn’t minded, it had been a bit of a turn on, if he was being honest with himself. He took another swig.

Never in his life had he imagined having such a wife. Never in his life had he even imagined  _having_ a wife to begin with. The only women he had been with were the whores from Littlefinger’s establishments, thought it had been awhile. His fantasies had made not having her easier. Now that she was “his”, what was he to do? What would she expect of him? 

No highborn lady had ever looked at him without pity. The whores had accepted his coin, but even they had a hard time looking at him. And now, his perfect little bride, his little bird, would be sharing his bed. It would be agony to not touch her, but if that was what it took, then that is what he would do. He didn’t want to take her if she didn’t want him, and how could she? She may be a woman flowered, but she had had such high hopes and dreams when she arrived to the capital. Dreams that he was a sharp contrast to, he sourly noted. He took another swig of wine, and another, until he had finished it off.

The Imp had been kind enough to lend him his squire for the night. The armor he had been wearing would have been too much for Sansa or her handmaiden to handle on their own, since he doubted either had experience with it. The boy spoke little, which Sandor appreciated. Now he sat in his undershirt and pants, waiting for his little bird. The combination of the wine and the warm room was making him drowsy, and he nodded off.


	21. Sansa: Exploring Through Sleep

Shae had dressed Sansa in a simple yet elegant cotton sleeping gown. It was easy enough to take off on her own, and comfortable enough if she ended up actually sleeping in it. Shae had also given her a quick and somewhat detailed explanation of how the marriage bed worked, along with a promise to tell her more later on, when they had more time to talk. Her tummy had butterflies in it, just thinking of Sandor’s  _thing_ being inside her, but it was a good kind of fluttering.

She entered the bedchamber and found her lord husband asleep. She felt a little disappointed, but it had been a long day for both of them, and really, she couldn’t blame him for being tired. She took the empty wine flask from his hand and put it away. Calling for Podrick, he helped her get Sandor under the covers before returning to his pallet in the next room. 

Sandor hadn’t stirred at all, his sleep was so deep, so Sansa sat next to his sleeping form and took the moment to look him over thoroughly. He looked very peaceful. The anger and hate that usually twisted his facial features was absent, and Sansa noted that he really was a handsome man, even with the burns. She smiled to herself. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the mouth. She wanted to go further, but didn’t know much about kissing. Another thing to ask Shae. 

His undershirt was loose and she could see a light smattering of hair peeking out over his strong chest. Shyly and carefully, she pulled his shirt up. She couldn’t pull it off, so she made do with raising it enough to give her a good view. Sandor still did not wake.

She placed her hand on his chest lightly. Sneaking a peek at his face, she made sure he was still fast asleep. His continued even breathing gave her courage. She ran her hands across his torso, feeling the muscle beneath. The light smattering of hair grew denser further down, though it veered into a V shape, leading down to his trousers.  _He’s just so...big! So masculine, THIS is what a man should be like_ , she thought. Her nail caught on the laces from his pants as she traced a scar on his abdomen. A wicked temptation crossed her mind. Slowly, gently, she undid the laces and pulled back the fabric. Shae had warned her that if a man was not aroused, his member would not be impressive at all. Curious, Sansa stroked it cautiously with her finger, causing it to twitch a little. Shae had also told Sansa that one sure way of arousing a man was to take his member into her mouth. If that didn’t work, then the man was either too tired or too drunk to do his duty, and to wait for another time.

Sansa wasn’t sure she was ready to do  _that_ just yet, especially when she knew her husband was both tired and drunk, but this was a perfect opportunity to explore his body.  _It’s only fair_ , she thought to herself,  _he’s seen so much of me already_ . She thought back to the day in the throne room. She wouldn’t mind having her clothes ripped, if it was him doing it in the privacy of their chambers, she decided. However, he hadn’t seen anything below her waist, so she guiltily redid the laces on his pants and concentrated on his torso again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I wonder if I spent a little too much time on character development....


	22. Sandor: Woman or Child

Sandor felt movement at his side. Alarm rang through his head, bringing him out of his sleep stupor. He looked down to find his little bird clinging to him in her sleep. The memories of the previous day came flooding back to him, and he allowed himself to relax. His head didn’t hurt as much as he had expected it to, but he felt like his pants had shrunk a size.The sun had not yet risen, but he did not feel like he would be able to sleep any longer.

Sansa murmured something about it being too cold to get up. He pulled the covers closer around her, careful not to wake her. She snuggled into his side, letting out a contented sigh. Her long red hair had been tied back in a loose braid, and her sleeping gown was very thin, he could feel the contours of her body through it. His thoughts immediately went to wondering how she would look underneath him, naked as her name day, her glorious red hair strewn out around her.

He felt himself harden, but was loathe to disentangle himself from her to go take care of it. He stayed with her like that until the pink rays of the dawn could be seen.

He rose from bed and made use of the privy. He was confused as to why his laces had been tighter than usual, but forgot himself when he re-entered the bedchamber. Sansa was awake, beautiful as ever and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said dreamily, “Did you sleep well? You passed out so early, I had to ask Podrick for help getting you under the covers. I never could have managed it on my own.”

He grimaced at the thought of Podrick being essentially alone with his wife as he lay there asleep. He shouldn’t have drunk so much at the feast.  _At least you know Podrick Payne is too shy to talk to females, let alone bed one in front of her sleeping husband._

He sat on the bed, keeping a distance. She looked at him curiously, but said nothing. “Sansa, about the bedding…”

“Oh! Of course, how could I have forgotten,” she said, jumping out of the bed. “Let me get ready, it will only take a few moments.”

“No, Sansa, I mean...” but she was already out the door, calling for her handmaiden. She returned a few minutes later.

“Would you like me to undress, my lord?” she asked shyly.

He grimaced again, “Sandor, just call me Sandor, Sansa.”

“Sandor,” she said slowly, as if tasting it. It occurred to him that while he often called her “little bird”, she hadn’t really called him by any name, even his surname. “Sandor, should I take off my gown, or do you want to undress me?”

_Gods be good_ , he thought. He was having a harder and harder time remembering why he needed to resist.

“Sansa, come here,” he said, trying not looking at her. She did as she was bid. He could see the swell of her breasts through the thin fabric. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. Patting the space next to him, he offered her a seat. She sat down, a bit closer than he expected. “Sansa, you’re a child.”

He heard her frown more than he saw it. “I am a woman flowered, and our age difference isn’t  _that_ great,” she said indignantly. 

“A  _child_ ,” he repeated. “And yes, I’ve heard of worse differences in age, to be sure. But that is beside the point. I want you. Does that frighten you?”

“A little bit, yes,” she admitted.

“It frightens me, too. I know I am ugly--”

“No, my l--”

He pushed himself to his feet angrily, towering over her. Her eyes widened, but she did not cower. “Do not lie to me, Sansa. I am cursed, scarred, and fearsome, but...” he sank down to his knees in front of her, “but abed, when the candles are blown out, and the curtains are drawn, I am made no worse than any other man. In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers.” She raised her eyebrow at that, but stayed silent. “I will be loyal to you. I am no craven, I will protect you. And I may not be the most clever man, but I keep my wits about me, which is more than I can say for others. Neither my brother nor I are known for our kindness, but..for you, I find it comes quite easily. I would be good to you, I would be dutiful.” He glanced up at her, his heart beating loudly.

She had a look on her face that was half amused and half bemused. She sat there, trying to find the right thing to say.

He felt empty and disappointed. “I understand,” he said bitterly and stood back up.

“No, I don’t think you do,” she said softly. 

“Remove your clothes and get in bed, Sansa. It’s time to do our  _duty_ .” He suddenly felt tired again. She did as she was told, lying there with her eyes closed, her body trembling.  _From cold or from fear?_ he thought. He looked upon her, drank in the sight of her, his beautiful little bird, ever ready to be  _dutiful_ . He removed his own clothing unceremoniously, tossing it onto the floor.

“Open your eyes, Sansa.” She did, her eyes going wide again as she looked upon his naked form. His cock was hard from the desire he had felt from holding her as she slept. She stared at it, lips trembling.  _She’s terrified. Of course she’s scared. You’re a monster with a cock worthy of one, fool. Shit, what am I doing?_

He sighed, and knelt beside her on the bed. “Sansa, you are lovely, I cannot deny that, as you can see,” he gestured to his throbbing cock, “but...I cannot do this.” She sat up and looked at him in astonishment. “We will wait. The turn of the moon, the season, however long it takes. Until you are ready, I will not touch you.”

Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared at his grey ones, “And if I never want you to, what then?”

He felt like the earth had been removed from below him. “Never?” She nodded determinedly. “Then I’ll have to get a separate bedchamber.”

He started to move off the bed, but she caught his arm. “And... if I say I want you to touch me right now?”

He frowned.  _Is this a trick?_ “I would ask if you are sure,” he said hesitantly.

Her hand trailed down his arm, pulling his hand towards her. She pressed his palm to her breast. “And if I say that I am sure?”

“Little bird...I would be remiss if I did not ask again,” he said softly, leaning forward. She grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of her.

“Then I must insist,” she whispered, staring deeply into his eyes. She kissed him softly. “Touch me, Sandor. As only a husband can. Please, as you said, be...be  _dutiful_ .”

His eyes clouded, “You do not know what you ask.”

 

“I do know,” she pleaded, “that is why I ask, no, that is why I  _insist_ .” He had not expected this. “Please, Sandor, do not make me beg, not now.”

“Why would you want me now, little bird? Even with this little light, you’ll be able to see that it is me. We can wait for nightfall, and when it is dark, you can pretend--” She hit him. It didn’t hurt him, but she hit him all the same. Confused, he said “Little bird…”

“Are you going to make me say it?” she cried, covering her face with her hands. She was blushing deeply, he could see her neck and even her shoulders turning pink.

“Make you say what?” Sandor was truly confused.

“Oh!” She hit him again. He caught her wrist. “You can be so dense sometimes!”

“Little bird, I’m sorry, I do not understand what you are--” she pulled him down with her free hand and silenced him with a kiss. Though inexperienced, it was filled with such longing, he did not notice as she pulled his hand down to between her legs. 

She broke the kiss, gasping. “Sandor, here, touch me here.”

He felt her, hot and wet. “Little bird…”

“Do you understand now? I don’t need to wait for nightfall. I don’t want the Knight of Flowers, I want  _you_ . I love...well, I love  _you_ …” The last part she said so softly, but it echoed in his mind. Any resistance he had left evaporated as he heard those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today. Couldn't help myself with how this chapter ended.


	23. Sansa: Anti-climactic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a bit of mature content in the story before, but this chapter earns the rating. Just FYI in case you're offended (but why would you be reading this story in the first place?) and would like to skip it.
> 
> Also, sorry to those who were worried that their marriage would end up annulled! But, never fear, I love Sandor to much to let that happen to him.

He kissed her roughly. Sansa tried to reciprocate his kiss as best she could, but never had she felt this much from two pairs of lips touching. Her experience had been limited to chaste kisses, familial kisses, and the one time Theon had tried to kiss her and Robb had beat him severely for that. She remembered Shae’s words,  _Just go with the flow. If it feels good, let him know, and if it feels bad, really let him know. If you moan or make any noises, don’t worry about it, but don’t push yourself to be alluring or sexy. It will come off as fake and will not be appealing. Just be in the moment with him_ .

He started kneading her breast, flicking her nipple lightly and rolling it in between his index finger and thumb. She shivered with delight, not noticing the small moan that escaped her lips. She grasped Sandor by the neck as he worked his way down, trailing a mix of rough and gentle kisses down to her other breast. Her back arched as he suckled, his tongue flicking this nipple in time to his finger at her other one.

She felt his manhood teasing her entrance, sending little electric thrills each time it touched her.  _Ohmyohmyohmy!_ raced through her brain. She knew Sandor wasn’t doing that on purpose, at least, she was fairly sure he wasn’t, but she could feel the tip slide over her, press into her slightly, making her feel empty, wanting to be filled.  _Oh gods, please, please, please!_ She wasn’t sure what she was begging for, but her mewling and whimpering got the message across to her husband.

“This next part is going to hurt, little bird. I am going to take your maidenhead,” he growled possessively.

She nodded, Shae had warned her about this too. “I am ready.” She trusted him. She was so wet with desire, that he meet little resistance. A sharp stab of pain, and he was inside her, filling her. He kissed her, soothing her and the pain went away quickly enough, but Sandor was still as she adjusted to accommodate his girth. 

Shifting and squirming beneath him, she heard him gasp.  _I want more. More_ , she thought,  _please give me more._

“A moment, Sansa, lest I spill my seed in you too soon. It has...been a while since I’ve done this,” he rasped. She had not been aware of speaking out loud. He kissed her again, tempting her mouth open with his tongue, daring her to reciprocate. She wrapped her arms around him, and her legs around his waist. He thrust slowly, at first, scared to hurt her, to go too fast for her, but as he listened to her moan, he picked up his tempo. 

She tilted her head back, exposing her creamy white throat. He alternated between kissing, nipping and licking. She felt like he was trying to claim her, to mark her, even if it was a mark only the two of them would know about.  _Let them all know! I am HIS woman._

He filled her, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He was pouring his feelings into her, and she could not help but be moved. The wonderful feelings she felt were more than physical, but it was a very physical reaction she was having to him. She felt something changing, intensifying, something was coming and as it did, she sang her song of ecstasy, his name on her lips, “Oh gods be good, Sandor, SANDOR!”

“Sansa!” He choked out hoarsely as his own climax overtook him a mere moment later. Spent, he rolled the two of them over, letting her lay on top with his shrinking member still inside her. She snuggled against his chest and let out a happy sigh of contentment as he pulled the covers up over them. Despite the vigorous activity, the morning air was still cold and she was grateful for his warmth.

“Are you alright, little bird?” he asked.

She giggled. “Saying I’m just ‘alright’ would be a lie. That was wonderful! Can we do it again?”

He chuckled. “Yes, but not right away. It was no jest when I said I envied Joffrey for his stamina and vigor. Though, he doesn’t have my knowledge or patience, so I think it’s a trade-off.”

She made a face, “Please don’t mention him, not at a time like this.” She shuddered and clung tightly to him, the memory of her dance with the king fresh in her mind.

“Sansa, what is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, not now. I don’t even want to remember. Later, I will tell you later. For now, just hold me.” She looked up at him, “I only want you. Remember that.”

He held her tightly, “I will, little bird. I will.”

She felt guilty for spoiling the good atmosphere they had had. To lighten the mood, she told him shyly, “I’ll tell you something else instead, I dreamed about you.”

“Oh? When? What did you dream about me?” he asked encouragingly. His deep voice made his chest rumble. She liked feeling that sensation.

“The first time, was after the riot. I had been having nightmares, ones where you didn’t come to save me. But then, they changed. I’m not sure why. But in the dream, you came galloping in on your black steed, and instead of being in that house, we were out in a square. I was splayed out in the center on a sort of platform, my arms tied so that I couldn’t escape. You fought three or four, and your horse chased the rest of them away. And then…” she blushed, buried her face in his chest and mumbled the rest of it.

“What?” he asked curiously. “You’ll have to repeat that.”

She lifted her head enough to barely look at him, “And then, you took their place, but in a nice way.”

He looked at her in bemusement. “So, in your dream, I saved you and then took you, right there, in the middle of the riot?”

“Yes,” Sansa nuzzled his chest. “People were surrounding us, staring, but didn’t dare get near you as you claimed me for your own. The dream wasn’t as detailed as it could have been, but it was from before I knew such carnal delights, so you’ll have to forgive that...oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes growing wide.


	24. Sandor: Early to Rise

Sandor watched his little bird’s face as his cock hardened and grew inside her. He felt her shiver with anticipation. “Sandor...can we...right now?”

“Yes, little bird,” he said huskily, “but not we, you.”

“Me?” she asked, incredulous. The sun had poked out from the horizon, and he could see her better. He wanted to see her, watch her, as she sang her song.

“Yes, you. Sit up and start by pretending you’re riding a horse. Here, take my hands, so you don’t lose your balance.” He interlocked his fingers with hers. “Now, I want you to get comfortable. Wiggle around if you need to, but carefully. Men are very sensitive there.” 

She nodded her understanding, her breath was quickening already and her cheeks flushed. Her nipples had hardened to little nubs on her pert breasts. He wanted to suckle on them again, but first things first. “Now, place your hands here, on my stomach. I’ll hold on to your waist, to help guide you and keep you steady up there. Rock your hips, back and forth, yes, just like that, little bird. Does it feel good?” 

“Yes,” she said breathily. 

“Good, keep your eyes on me. I want you to do whatever makes you feel good, move however you want, touch yourself or me however you want, or even ask me to touch you however you want, but I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

She kept rocking a slow and steady pace. He wondered if he was dreaming as he watched her, his precious little bird. 

_If I'm dreaming, may I never wake up _. She started to touch herself as well, massaging her breasts, hesitantly at first, but gaining confidence. Sandor stared at them quite openly. He wanted to reach up and take them in his hands, but watching her doing it was intoxicating. Her hips were moving in a more thorough fashion, like some of the Dornish dancing girls he had seen in Robert’s court a while back. He kept his hands on her hips for balance, but he also liked feeling her skin beneath his finger tips. The feeling of her pleasuring herself on his cock was incredibly satisfying, her moans were like music, and he only hoped that he could hold back long enough for her to reach her climax. No female had ever affected him like this, making him feel like an untried youth all over again.__

“Sandor?”

“Yes, little bird?” his voice low and husky.

“Can I...I mean,” she seemed to remember that he said she was in complete control, and leaned down, long tendrils of her hair had escaped from the braid and now tickled his chest. “Please...put your mouth here,” she said as she offered him a breast. He chuckled that even now she was still being so polite, and gladly accepted it. Above him, Sansa began to moan louder, and her hips moved faster with deeper strokes. Sandor could feel her body begin to shudder. He reached with one hand around to her back and traced a line down her spine. This sent her over the edge and she came hard against him, pulling him into his own release. She sank back down on top of him, exhausted but happy.

“Oh, by the gods, Sandor...that was...that was…”

“I know, little bird. I know,” he said and kissed her deeply.


	25. Sansa: The Sheet and the Bath

They spent the rest of the morning, lying in bed, talking about different things. Sansa learned more about Sandor’s childhood and family, while Sandor learned more about hers and life at Winterfell. Shae had brought them food, so that they wouldn’t have to leave the room, though Sansa had covered Sandor possessively while leaving herself completely exposed until Shae had left, which both Sandor and Shae found thoroughly amusing. 

“I should write to my mother,” Sansa said. She was currently sitting in Sandor’s lap, her back to his chest, inspecting his hands. “To let her know about the wedding, and that I am happy with it.”

“Ah, yes, Mama Stark might slay me on the spot if she thought I was forcing myself on you. She and your brother won’t be happy about this,” he said wryly, kissing her bare shoulder. Sansa snorted in a very unladylike-manner.

“I don’t care. I’m happy, and that is all that should matter to them. Robb didn’t care that I was stuck here while he’s free to come and go as he pleases. He didn’t even send anyone to try to rescue me! Though, if I had been rescued, I wouldn’t be here with you, so I suppose it’s better that he didn’t. Oh, I don’t know! My point is that he lost his chance to have a say in who I marry.”

“Such a fierce creature I have as my wife.” Sandor grinned, “I should call you she-wolf now.”

She leaned back to look up at him, “But I like it when you call me ‘little bird’. It’s an endearment.”

He raised his good eyebrow, “You do know I was mocking you when I first called you that?”

She giggled, “Well, yes, but after awhile, it wasn’t like that anymore. It would be strange to hear you call me anything else.”

“What if I called you Sansa?  _My_ Sansa.”

“Hmm...I suppose that would be ok, but I think I prefer ‘little bird’ still,” she seemed very pleased by it. “I still can’t believe it. I keep feeling like it’s all a dream and any moment I’ll wake up and be back in the hell I was before.” She sighed. “But it  _is_ real? Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing, little bird.”

**********

Shae had insisted that they take lunch at the table while she and the other maids cleaned up the bedchamber. They had just finished eating when Sansa decided to ask, “Sandor, what’s the difference between ‘fucking’ and ‘making love’?”

He nearly choked on his wine, he was so startled. “I never really spared it much thought,” he said, wiping up the liquid that spilled. “I suppose, fucking is more about the act, and making love is more about the feeling behind the act.”

“Really? Earlier, um,” she blushed furiously, “the first time, while it was nice,  _very_ nice in fact, it didn’t really feel like I should call it ‘making love’, but it was more than just…” she blushed more, “Um, anyway, the second time was so different, that it occurred to me that there might be an actual difference in the two.”

“You can call it whatever you like. As long as you only do it with me, and you tell me what you’d like to try, what feels good, what feels great, and what you’d like to avoid.” She blushed deeply.

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a shy smile. He was in too good a mood to correct her.

**********

“Hound, the Hand wants to see you. Immediately. Bring your proof,” Meryn said. Sandor was visibly disgruntled. His former brother in white had interrupted the afternoon nap Sandor had been taking with Sansa. Leaving Shae with instructions to inform Sansa of his whereabouts, Sandor got dressed, grabbed the linen Shae had set aside, and went with Meryn.

**********

“I trust you are pleased with your bride?” Tywin Lannister was not one to mince words. No greeting, nor civilities of any sort. He didn’t even look up from the paperwork in front of him. Maester Pycelle had inspected the sheet Sandor had brought, declared the marriage consummated, and left the two men to talk.

“Yes, m’lord. She is more than I deserve.” Sandor said it flatly, but he meant it.

“Good. Joffrey shouldn’t have changed the plan like he did, but at least I know you won’t be squeamish about making sure she knows her place. Tyrion is too soft hearted, would probably have lacked the fortitude to follow through with the marriage. Get her with child soon so absolutely no one can deny your claim on her. The last thing we need is an annulment from those Starks, confirmed bedding or not. You have served our family with much loyalty and that deserves a reward. In addition to your unexpected marriage, I am also giving you a small estate, more for the title that comes with it than anything else. Consider it a reward for your efforts on the Blackwater. We can’t have it said that Sansa of House Stark married an untitled bodyguard.” Sandor raised an unburnt eyebrow at that, but Tywin was still dealing with the paperwork in front of him as he spoke. “I considered knighting you as well, but I leave that choice up to you. Eventually, once she has born you an heir and the kingdoms are settled once again, you will be named Warden of the North. As husband to the Stark girl, you will be more likely to hold the North’s loyalty than anyone else we place there.”

“I doubt her brother and mother will submit to that,” Sandor replied.

“Don’t worry about them. The Young Wolf and his mother will be dealt with in due time. You are dismissed.” And with that, Tywin continued with his work, completely done with Sandor. With a bow that went unnoticed, Sandor turned and left the room. He mused over the fact that the head of House Lannister hadn’t even looked up once during the entire conversation.

**********

Upon his return, he discovered that his lady wife had visitors. Tyrion and Sir Bronn were seated in the front room across from Sansa, as Shae served them refreshment. An open box lay on the table in between them.

“--and I felt like a complete cad. So I insist Lady Clegane, please accept this as a belated wedding gift.”

Sansa looked down, clearly wanting to accept the gift but unsure if she should. Sandor walked up to the table and looked down at the object in question

“There you are, Clegane! How good of you to join us,” Tyrion declared. 

“I would have been here sooner, but your father required my good ear,” Sandor said wryly. “From what I gather, you’ve brought my bride a gift then?”

“Well, it’s really for both of you. Since I was originally the groom, I had no need to provide a wedding gift. Would have been in bad taste, don’t you agree? But, when I was ousted, suddenly, I’m a guest with no gift to give and that is also in bad taste. So, as an apology, and also to say that there are no hard feelings, I brought something in addition to the wedding gift.” Tyrion picked up a pair of exquisite gold goblets. “This is the wedding gift. And this,” he gestured toward the large box, “is the apology and no feelings hurt gift.”

Sansa looked up at Sandor, touching his hand lightly, then resting her palm in his, for reassurance he supposed. Inside the box was a dress. At first glance, it seemed simple enough, a rich, dark grey color that would set off the red of Sansa’s hair, with delicate embroidery around the neck, sleeves and bottom of the dress. Upon closer inspection, the wealth and effort that went into the creation of the dress became apparent. It was embroidered around the neck in silver thread, an abstract design that looked like a wolf head, the more you stared at it. It was an ingenious design, whoever had created it was incredibly talented. The sleeves and the hem of the skirt shared a similar motif, though without the abstract wolf. The entire dress was a subtle nod to her Stark heritage.

Sandor sighed. It was obvious that his little bird wanted the dress but had reservations about accepting it from her former betrothed, however short an engagement it was. “I thank you, my lord. It is an unexpected, but welcome gift. She will look lovely in it, I am sure.” He could feel Sansa’s grip tighten excitedly from happiness. “Though I have to wonder how you procured it so quickly.”

“You are most welcome, Lord Clegane. I have to say, it’s going to take some getting used to, calling you that. You’ll forgive me if I say it too often. Consistency and repetition will help me, but I will understand if it becomes an annoyance to you.” Tyrion smiled at them, his scarred nose crinkling up.

Sandor raised an unburnt eyebrow at that, “As you will,  _Imp_ . You did not answer my question, however.”

Tyrion laughed, “You never cease to amuse me, Clegane. Ok, truth be told, I  _did_ originally have it made as a bridal gift for Sansa, since I was her bridegroom at the time, but since things didn’t go as my lovely sister planned, I couldn’t very well give it to her the same way. It seemed a shame to waste such a nice dress, and it  _was_ tailored just for her. Really, I want her to have it, and for both of you to know that I pray for your wedded bliss.” Tyrion hopped down from his chair.

“Well, as fun as this is, Bronn and I have other places to be, and you probably would like some alone time with your new wife.” Tyrion turned to the handmaiden, “Um, Shane, is it?”

“It’s Shae, m’lord.” Sandor noticed the handmaiden’s eyes narrow slightly. 

_That was odd…_ Sandor thought.

“Beg pardon, Shae, if you would be so kind and join me for a little while, I can introduce you to the tailor, who can give you the, um, specifics for, um, proper laundering of that dress. From what I understand, the embroidery requires special attention.” Tyrion couldn’t quite look the handmaiden in the eye, and kept darting his gaze back to the stone flooring. Shae crossed her arms, considering the offer. The pieces came together quickly in his mind and Sandor snorted, catching everyone’s attention.

“Get on with it, girl. Pay proper attention, and don’t let me catch you back here until you’ve had at least a few hours of study with this ‘tailor’,” Sandor said with a knowing grin. He never would have figured the beautiful handmaiden would be involved with the Imp, but stranger things had happened. Who was he to judge? Shae had the decency to pretend to not know what he was talking about, merely nodded and walked out of the room with her head held high and Tyrion close behind her. 

Bronn gave a slight nod to Sandor, kissed Sansa’s hand and gave her a roguish wink before following them. Sandor growled lightly at him as he shut the door behind the sellsword. He turned back to Sansa. She was gazing down at the dress, touching it lightly, as if she wasn’t sure she believed it was really there. Sandor came up behind her, clasping his hands around her waist. He had seen his father do a similar intimacy with his mother long, long ago, and it was something he wanted with his new wife. She leaned back into him and sighed, accepting his touch readily.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

“Aye, and a right lovely dress,” he replied. She turned her head, looked up at him and giggled.

“No, not that.” She reached up to stroke his cheek.

“Then what?”

“Lord Tyrion and Ser Bronn, they called me  _Lady Clegane_ ! I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out it was all a dream. That I’m really married to someone else, like Lord Baelish, or worse, to Joffrey. But it’s real! I am  _your_ wife, no one else’s.”

Sandor blinked, a little taken aback by her words. She took his surprise as an opportune moment to turn and face him fully, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Little bird, what…”

“I pledged it to you in front of the Seven. I said it this morning. I love you. I realized it when you were walking me to the sept to be married to another, but I had loved you before that. I was ready to spread my wings and fly away, but when I imagined that it was you who would be my betrothed, my heart calmed. I knew I could get through anything, as long as you were beside me.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, “I know that I am not someone you would have expected to marry, but I promise that I will be a good and loyal wife. I will give you strong sons and daughters. I will do everything in my power to be worthy of being your mate.”

“Sansa...that...I mean…” he stumbled with his words. He never imagined she would feel like that and it was difficult for him to comprehend. “Wait, son _s_ and daughter _s_ ,” he asked, emphasizing the plural. “As in more than one of each?”

She grinned coyly. “If you think you’re up to it.”

Sandor grinned, “Cheeky little bird.”

**********

They soon discovered that while both their spirits were more than willing, Sansa was a bit more sore than she had anticipated. Still wanting alone time with his surprisingly willing bride, Sandor sent servants scurrying with barked orders to prepare a bath. As soon as it was ready, he helped Sansa undress. He didn’t expect Shae to show up anytime soon, and he found that he liked helping Sansa, if only because it meant he was making her less clothed. Even helping her put her hair into a loose bun wasn’t a chore, because it was for her. In return, she helped him undress as well, though he noticed she lingered on his chest as she pulled his shirt off. He sat in the bath first, then helped her into the tub. It was large, even for his big frame, and she was able to sit on his lap, leaning her back against his chest and relax her sore muscles. He lathered up his hands and a small washing cloth, and began to wash her, taking his time and marveling at the novelty of it all. He had never expected to have any wife, let alone the lovely young woman who now sat in his lap.

_My wife, Sansa. And on top of that, she_ wants _to be my wife. Truly, the gods are making some jest._  He knew it would take some time to adjust to the idea, every moment felt like a dream he would soon wake from, but he hoped he didn’t fuck it up too badly before then. Neither spoke much, except for Sandor to tell her to raise her arm or move a leg.

He heard her breath quicken a bit when he moved the cloth to her breasts. The water didn’t quite cover her fully, and he could see her nipples tighten as he washed her there. Continuing the washing with one hand, he reached the other around her waist and down between her legs. Another novel concept to him, he found himself wanting to please her, something he had never felt when he had visited the whores in the pleasure houses of Kings Landing.

Using the washing cloth, he guided one of her arms up and around his neck, letting the water travel down her skin in trivets. He then switched hands to do the same to her other arm, but keeping one hand “innocent” while the other lightly teased the sensitive nub hidden in her intimate folds. He felt her shiver with delight, soft moans escaping her pink lips.

He whispered, “That’s it, little bird, let me hear you sing.” She shivered again, his breath hot on her ear. He dipped a finger inside her and made her gasp. The washing cloth was a mere premise now, he was openly fondling her breasts with only the soapy cloth in between his hand and her skin. He licked and nibbled at the tender skin of her neck. She pushed her chest up, holding on to him with her hands wrapped around the back of his neck.

“Oh, gods,  _Sandor!_ ” she wailed breathlessly as she came undone. 

She melted against his large frame, satiated by his ministrations. Sandor saw the small, sensual smile she wore. It pleased him immensely that he was able to do that for her. His cock had come to attention, but he tried to adjust himself so that she wouldn’t notice it as much. He thought he was doing well, until she took the cloth from him and soaped it up a bit more. She stood up, allowing him an excellent view of her derriere before she turned and sat back down on his lap, this time facing him. Straddling his lap, she winced a little, her sore muscles making themselves evident. 

“Little bird, you don’t have to--”

“If I don’t, my legs will just be more sore tomorrow. And...this isn’t so bad.” She kept her eyes down, focused on the cloth in her hand as she rubbed his chest with it. “The hot water really helped. Besides, as your  _dutiful_ wife,” she smiled shyly, “I should return the favor and wash you as well.”

“Well, as your  _dutiful_ husband, I would be remiss in my manners if I turned you down after hearing that.” He grinned at her. The unlikely bond that they had forged had turned into a teasing camaraderie. Even among his peers in the king’s service, he didn’t have a relationship like that, but he felt like it was an old familiar. Being so out of character was acceptable, even felt right, as long as it was with Sansa. His usual anger melted away in her presence, leaving only the stoic, yet somewhat playful man he could have been, had it not been for his brother and service to the Lannisters. 

“I learned some things from Shae,” he heard her whisper.

“Oh? She prepared you for the wedding night, didn’t she?” he asked, his voice low and husky. Sansa’s gentle hand had washed him very thoroughly, and his cock was straining for more attention. He felt it thump lightly against her stomach, but she made no indication that she had noticed it.

“Yes, and while you were out, she gave me several suggestions on what I could do. For instance, washing your chest,” she lathered the cloth, creating numerous soap suds, then wiped them off onto her breasts. Discarding the washing cloth, she raised her body up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her soap laden breasts into his chest. She kissed him, lightly at first. As the kiss deepened, Sandor could feel her move her hips until the tip of his rigid cock nestled at her entrance. She sank down slowly, inch by glorious inch.

“Seven hells, that feels good,” Sandor hissed. Sansa smiled, keeping her soapy breasts pushed against his chest.

“I’m going to need some help with the next part, if I am to  _wash_ you thoroughly,” she whispered huskily. Sandor was more than willing to cooperate. He cupped her buttocks in his big hands, giving her support as she pushed herself up and then let herself sink back down, every movement slow and deliberate. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her moans were worth the water that was being displaced out of the tub. She glided up and down, slowly and deliciously torturous. Every other time she rose, she would kiss him and nip at his lips. The friction they created between their soapy chests caused sensations Sandor had never imagined. He could feel himself getting close, despite or maybe because of the slow intimacy. 

“Little bird,” he whispered, his voice tight, begging. She licked her lips and quickened her pace.

“Oh gods, Sandor,” she cried. “I’m..I’m…”

He felt her insides tighten, just as his seed spilled into her. She slumped against him, tired and slightly out of breath, but extremely happy. He was the same, and cradled her lovingly.

“Sandor, I hope you are pleased with your bath,” she looked up at him with a smirk.

“Aye, little bird, as are you, I would say.” He tweaked her nipple gently.

“Very. Every bath should be as nice,” she declared.

“If it was, we’d never leave it,” he responded, but truthfully, he didn’t mind the idea.


	26. Cersei: Undeserving

Pacing in front of her father’s desk, Cersei felt nothing but anger. Tywin had been watching her for several minutes, but had yet to say anything.

“Father, I really must protest. This is not right!”

“What would you have me do? The marriage has been consummated. And frankly, I believe he will keep her in line, much better than Tyrion ever would.” Her sire gave her an irritated look. “What exactly are you protesting to? That Sansa Stark married beneath her? That she is not a Lannister? That she will somehow convince one of our most loyal men to carry her away from here?”

“Is he? One of our most loyal men, I mean? He ran away from Blackwater!” she spat out.

“And he came back. You know how he feels about fire. I am actually more impressed that he came back when the bay was still like it was. So yes, I would say he is one of, if not  _the,_ most loyal man we have.”

She paced around more and shook her head, “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”

“She’s a beautiful girl, like her mother. A lot of the men look at her the same way,” Tywin said patiently.

“It’s not like that, it’s...it’s more than that,” Cersei said.

“You mean love?”

Cersei crossed her arms and shook her head, “Maybe, I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave them be.”

“And what’s your objection to him loving her? She’s an important piece. If he loves her, he just has all the more reason to keep her safe, here, in the capital, not out there in war zones,” he reasoned.

“Or all the more reason to defect to the Starks,” Cersei countered.

“A Clegane with the Starks? That’ll be the day.”


	27. Sansa: Hum Me A Few Bars

Thoroughly tired out, Sansa slept deeply and peacefully at her husband’s side. It was strange, but comforting to have him in the bed with her. She remembered sharing a bed with Arya once in a while, when they were much younger, but that had been different. The previous night, she remembered falling asleep next to him, but with some space in between, though she had woken up later to find herself pressed up against his side. She didn’t know if he had pulled her towards him or if she had shifted to be closer to him in her sleep, but tonight, she snuggled up to him. He didn’t say anything, but made sure she was comfortable.

In the morning, she woke before he did. The sky was no longer pink from early morning rays and rapidly growing to the usual brilliant blue. She enjoyed the quiet moments like this. Even at his best, he was still reserved and had a touch of what she referred to as “the frowny face”, never out loud, of course. When he slept though, he lost all of that, and she wanted to eventually see him like this in his waking hours.

She gazed lovingly at him. _What would it take, I wonder? Time, of course. Plenty of love, which I have in spades for him. Laughter, maybe I could ask Moonboy for some jokes? Ah, but making him smile is even better. Like when I mentioned having children. A tiny version of Sandor! How perfect that would be._ She touched her hand to her abdomen. _Maybe even now, already growing inside me. He filled me with plenty of his seed yesterday, so it’s possible. And if not, we’ll keep trying. I would not mind that._ She grinned to herself.

The sun slipped behind a cloud as Sansa rose from the bed, leaving Sandor still sleeping peacefully. Shae was already bringing in breakfast, but directed one of the other servants to continue while she helped Sansa.

In the privacy of the small dressing room, Shae unbraided and brushed Sansa’s hair. She didn’t even realize she was humming until Shae asked her.

“You had a good night then, my lady?” Shae asked in her melodic accent.

Sansa blushed. “A _very_ good day and a very restful night. How could you tell?”

“You are glowing with happiness. You willingly, even hurriedly, run to the bedchamber to be with your husband. You were alone with him for more hours than you were away from him, by a large amount. And you were humming. You hum when you are happy.” Shae smiled absentmindedly. “It is nice seeing you so happy.”

Sansa bowed her head carefully, trying not to burst, lest her hair ended up getting pulled and tangled.

“I _am_ happy. Aren’t I? But,” she whispered, "I’m also afraid." She trusted Shae. If there was anyone she could talk to, it was this foreign handmaiden.

“Afraid of what, m'lady?”

Sansa swallowed and turned around slowly, looking up at her. Shae stilled the brush. Without being asked, she turned and shut the door to the dressing room. Returning, she pulled a seat closer and sat down next to Sansa.

“I’m afraid that something is going to happen to ruin this happiness. I love Sandor, with all my heart. The way I thought I felt about Joffrey so long ago cannot even compare to how I truly feel about Sandor. But every time something good happens, something equally bad, if not worse, happens soon after. I finally feel at home by his side, I don’t want to lose that,” she confided. Shae reached out and squeezed her hand.

“My lady, bad things happen all the time. But if you focus on those things, then they will soon overshadow the good things. If something happens, then it happens. But you are not alone now, you have your husband, you have a friend in Lord Tyrion, and you have your ever faithful handmaiden, Shae!”

Sansa smiled. She knew she could count on Shae. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Whatever happens next, Sandor is with me. I can face anything, as long as I have him.”

“And how was ‘having him’ yesterday? Did you use any of my advice?” Shae asked mischievously.

Sansa turned beet red. “You did! Didn’t you!” Shae exclaimed. “Tell me all about it. And then I’ll give you more ideas and advice.”

Sansa grinned, and told Shae, “Well, after you left with Lord Tyrion…”

**********

Sansa spent the day by Sandor’s side again. They had made love with the bright morning sun streaming in, making Sansa feel deliciously wanton. _It’s not a crime, to desire one’s own husband. I want him to know that I DO desire him. I want him, through and through, and if “making” him make love to me at various hours of the day helps me convince him of that, who am I to argue?_ she thought with a grin. She had decided that allowing herself to physically communicate her love to him was the best way to get through to him. _He is a man of action after all, and no amount of words will penetrate that thick skull of his._

Later on, a servant brought by a considerable number of documents that needed to be looked over and signed by Sandor. Sandor was sitting at the little used desk in their chambers, perusing the documents with a confused look when Sansa started looking through them.

“Sandor, did you send the note to my mother?”

“Yes,” he said absentmindedly. The document he was looking at seemed to be taking all of his concentration. Sansa carefully sat on his lap, wrapping one arm around the back of his neck, and looked at it too. He didn’t seem to notice, but moved to give her room.

“You’ve acquired an estate?” she asked, reading the paper in his hand.

Sandor finally looked up from it. “Essentially. Lord Tywin mentioned it yesterday. It gives me the title of Lord, as befitting the first daughter of Lord Eddard Stark,” he said with a slight grin. “I don’t think your father would have cared either way, but there you have it. Tywin called it a belated reward for Blackwater.”

“You were Kingsguard at the time and unable to hold land, but now that you’re not, it does make sense. It’s a small estate, but looks to be quite profitable despite that.” She shuffled through the papers. “Oh! It’s close to Winterfell, too!”

“You can understand these documents?” Sandor asked, surprised.

She nodded, still looking through the papers. “Father taught me. I usually preferred my sewing lessons, but he said it would be helpful to my future husband if I understood the basics of how to run an estate. So I grudgingly learned. Stewards are good, but when the lord is not home, the lady needs to be able to keep things in check. Of course, Robb, Jon and Bran received more in-depth lessons, but Father did not skimp on Arya’s and mine.”

Sandor looked at her thoughtfully. “What do you think of this?” he asked, handing her a paper.

Sansa was thrilled to be able to help Sandor. As the second son and as brother to the selfish monster known as The Mountain, his training had been of a soldier, and not so much of household management. He understood some of the documents, but had leaned heavily on Sansa to “translate” them.

They had spent the remainder of the morning pouring over the documents. Once Sandor was satisfied with what he understood, he signed the papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how long I waited to be able to used the phrase "deliciously wanton". Well...no, you do, I had to wait 27 chapters.


	28. Catelyn: Glad Tidings

Catelyn walked with her son and king. The Riverlands were as beautiful as she remembered, but that beauty was lost on her today. Her father was gone, truly gone, and the world seemed greyer for it.

“Mother,” Robb said, “There’s something you need to know.”

Her heart skipped a beat as fear seeped into it. “Is it...the Kingslayer?”

“No,” he replied, his words heavy, “It’s Sansa.”

Her hands flew to cover her mouth, _My sweet girl! They’ve killed her in retribution!_

“Is...is she gone, Robb?”

“Gone?” He gave her a confused look. “Dead? Oh, no, Mother, nothing like that. They haven’t harmed her, not like that. A bird came last night, but I couldn’t tell you, not until after Grandfather was laid to rest.” He took her hand. “She’s been married off, Mother.”

Now it was Catelyn’s turn to be confused. “Married? To whom? She’s been branded a traitor.”

Robb chewed on his lip, trying to find the courage to say, “To Sandor Clegane. The Hound.”

Catelyn was shocked. “ _The Hound?!_ She’s been married to the _Hound?!_ ”

“Yes, Mother.”

“He swore…” she mumbled, “The Imp swore to trade her and Arya for the Kingslayer... Why would he do that if they were just going to marry her to the Hound?”

“It’s in their blood to break oaths.” Robb patted the pommel of his sword. “If I could take off his ugly head, I could make her a widow and free. There’s no other way that I can see. They made her speak the vows in front of a septon and don a yellow cloak.”

Catelyn remembered the huge, scarred man from his time in Winterfell. He had a perpetual frown and spoke little except to scare away the locals. “If only I had insisted that the girls stay at home...My poor sweet Sansa with a brute like that? She must be terrified. Why would anyone do that to her?”

“For Winterfell,” Robb replied. “With Bran and Rickon gone, Sansa is my heir. If anything should happen to me…”

“Don’t say that Robb, you are all I have left now. If anything befell you, I would go mad.”

“Mother, I--”

“King Robb! Lady Catelyn!” a voice called out. They turned. A young lad was running towards them. When he reached them, he thrust a sealed letter at them. Huffing and puffing, he said, “Urgent...letter...rider...from King's Landing...maester...insisted…”

Catelyn took it from him. “Thank you, lad. Why don’t you go rest by the stream over there? Take your time before going back, alright?” The boy nodded in relief and did as he was bid.

Catelyn looked at the letter and gasped, “This is Sansa’s handwriting!” She tore it open.

She read the letter. Then proceeded to re-read it. Wordlessly, she handed it to Robb. He read it as she sat down on a nearby rock. He frowned, “Is this…? Can this be true?”

Catelyn took back the letter and read it a third time.

_Dearest Mother,_

_By now, you should have heard that I have been married. It was quite sudden and unexpected, as I did not know of it until the day of. The king claimed his rights as I am a ward of the crown and planned the marriage in secret with his mother, the Queen Regent. My betrothed was to be Tyrion Lannister, but I angered the king and he chose to wed me to Sandor Clegane instead, also known as The Hound. It was meant to be a punishment, it was meant to break my spirit. The king had unknowingly granted me a boon instead._

_Mother, please believe me when I say that I am happy with this turn of events. I love Sandor with all my heart, and I know that our marriage would not be possible under normal circumstances, since he is the second son of a lesser house. He loves me as well, Mother. Ever since I arrived in King’s Landing, Sandor has looked out for me, protected me, in his own way. We grew close, we became friends._

_Mother, I know you might not be able to accept this, but please know that the man you met in Winterfell is not the same man I married. He is still rough around the edges, still as dangerous a warrior as there could be, still blunt and somewhat vulgar in his speech, but underneath it all is a very loving man. He reminds me of Father, in that regard. He even has the look of the North. I hope that someday, you will be able to meet him and get to know the man he has become._

_Your loving daughter,_  
_Sansa Clegane_

“She says she is happy. Happy to be married to Sandor Clegane,” whispered Catelyn.

“Do you think this is like that other letter, the one that was sent when Father was first captured?”

Catelyn took the letter back and looked over it. “No, I don’t think so. This is Sansa’s voice, I’m sure of it.”

“But she says she’s happy with the Hound. That can’t be possible.”

“It’s been a long time since she arrived in King’s Landing, Robb. It’s possible that she knows a side of the man that is not known to us. Says that he is not like he used to be.” Catelyn stared at the letter. “Or she merely wants to believe that she is happy. I would have to see her with him to know for sure. I wish I could tell Brienne of this, she would be able to find out.”

“Perhaps we can make other arrangements, Mother. However, I think we should just kill him. Come, we must get back to the castle. The Freys wish to speak to us.” 


	29. Sandor: New Friend, New Purpose

Sandor walked down the hall. He had received a note last night, asking if he could come by the Imp’s quarters at his earliest convenience. He had no idea why the Imp would want to see him.

Sansa had woken him with a plate of fresh fruit. She had bartered feeding him a piece of fruit for a kiss. They had only exchanged a few kisses when the seamstress had interrupted. Sandor had forgotten he had made an appointment for Sansa. He knew she only had a few good dresses, and while he couldn’t furnish her with a wardrobe like the queen’s, he could at least make sure she was decently clothed. He had requested a few items to the seamstress, but left the rest of it up to Sansa to decide.

By the time he had dressed, the seamstress was in the middle of discussing styles, latest fashions and what would be the best for Sansa’s nature and complexion. He kissed his wife on the cheek before leaving.

Tyrion greeted him cordially when he finally arrived at the new chambers he had been given. Sandor could only imagine what it felt like going from being the Hand of the King to the Master of Coin. Both positions of power, but the Master of Coin had significantly less than the Hand, especially when that Hand was your father.

Sandor neither hated nor liked Tywin Lannister, but he did notice that Tyrion always got the short end of the stick when it came to the head of their house. He had always felt an odd sort of respect for the Imp, though it was a grudging one, and he always expected Tyrion to rise above his father’s meager expectations of him. He had hated that the Imp had used wildfire on the bay, but even that grudge he was starting to let go.

 _The little bird has really done a number on you, hasn’t she? Buggering fool_ , he thought. He took the offered chair as Tyrion sat behind his desk.

“Clegane,” Tyrion started, but then hesitated. He shook his head and started again, “First, before anything else, I wanted to apologize to you. For a number of reasons, but specifically, I am sorry about the wildfire. Mind you, if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t change that, I still believe it was the right thing to use, but...when I saw your eyes as the fire spread and...well, I’m sorry I caused you any...um… Blast it, Clegane, I’m trying to apologize and I’m afraid you’ll take my head off for it.”

Sandor grinned wolfishly, glad to know that while he had softened up under the little bird’s influence, he was still viewed as intimidating. “I accept your apology then, but I will consider this one you owe me, Imp. Now why did you call me away from my new wife?”

“You are not one for beating around the bush, so let me just say it. About Shae…”

Sandor rolled his eyes. “I don’t care who you’re fucking, dwarf. She’s a nice enough lass, and she makes Sansa happy. If you are what makes her happy, then fuck all you want, as long as it doesn’t interfere with _my_ wife.”

“You are a very unusual person, Clegane. Most people in King’s Landing would use this for blackmail,” Tyrion said with a wry smile.

Sandor rolled his eyes. “Bugger them. I’ve known you most of our lives. If I wanted to blackmail you with something, I’d choose something better.”

Tyrion laughed. “Well, that’s that then. But if there’s anything I can do for you, or your wife, please let me know. As you said, you’ve known me a long time, and I you. You are one of the few people I trust to do right by Sansa. Speaking of which, watch out for Petyr Baelish. He’s up to something, but I don’t know what. Not yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve already told Lady Sansa, but I suspect she hasn’t had time to tell you yet, considering…” he made a vague motion. Sandor just rolled his eyes. Tyrion coughed and continued, “He’s the one that provided information to my father that ended up in your marriage. He never does something like that without a reason, even if he claims to not have one. Once I find out that reason, I’ll let you know, but for now, just keep an eye on Sansa around him. I have my suspicions.”

Sandor was skeptical about the Imp’s motives. “Why do you care?”

Tyrion shrugged, but he had a thoughtful look on his face. “To be honest, I shouldn’t, but I feel like my family owes that girl a debt. No other Lannister will step up, so I want to do right by her, as much as I can. Consider me an ally in that regard. A Lannister...well, you know. I would appreciate it if you would let me know if you notice or find out anything you feel would be relevant. Lord Baelish is due to ship out soon, heading to the Vale to woo Lady Arryn. He might try to approach Sansa before then. As much as he swears loyalty to Lady Catelyn, he would only use Lady Sansa for his own means.”

Sandor frowned, but nodded in agreement.

**********

Despite no longer being on the Kingsguard, Sandor would still have duties to attend to, though he did not yet know what his new assignment was, as Lord Tywin hadn’t decided. He had given Sandor the entire week off to enjoy his new married status, but only three days into it, Sandor just didn’t feel right without training a least a little. Sansa would be busy for a while anyway.

Bronn was in the training yard, practicing against a baby faced soldier. “Put your back into, lad! You’ll never survive the battle, much less the war with that kind of limp wristed technique.”

Sandor watched for a bit. It was curious that Bronn was instructing the youth, instead of the arms master. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Ser Donal in a while, most likely one of the wounded or dead from Blackwater. After the demise of Ser Aron Santagar in the riots, an official replacement was never named, but Ser Donal had taken charge of the master-of-arms duties. Now Donal was missing and Bronn was stepping in.

Sandor had intended to spar with another warrior, but the training yard was strangely empty of the usual soldiers.

“Lord Clegane?” a voice behind him said.

He sighed. It would take a while getting used to hearing the title. “What is it, lad?” he asked without turning around. He was searching through the ill-maintained equipment and cursed whoever thought it was a good idea to put off replacing Santagar and Donal.

“Um, Ser Brandon was supposed to be here to help train the new recruits.”

Finding a decent practice sword, Sandor turned around. The boy talking to him was tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair sticking out from under his skull cap. A smaller boy, with dark blond hair and dirt-streaked face, stood next to him. “I haven’t seen him in a few days,” Sandor said, unsure of what the boy wanted from him.

The red-headed boy tried to look him in the eye, but his fear was clearly visible. “Yes, my lord, he was sent somewhere with a squadron of soldiers. But he left us instructions to ask anyone who was available for assistance in our training.” He gestured over to a group of boys, several of which were older than the one before him, if not all of them. Some of them were sniggering as they watched their spokesmen trembling in front of the horror known as the Hound.

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, boy. Those other lads, why didn’t they come to talk to me? Why you two specifically?” He leaned in, growling the last word.

The red-headed boy flinched, his eyes wide and glued to the burns on Sandor’s face, but he did not run away. It was the blond boy who answered, “I’m the youngest, m’lord. And the worst. And not a drop of noble blood in me. Saul is a baseborn son of a lesser house. In our group, we are the lowest.”

Sandor looked at the smaller boy. “And your name?”

“Gar, sir. At least, that’s what everyone calls me.”

“So they bullied you two into approaching the one person practically guaranteed to _snap_ you, and the rest of them, in half rather than offer to teach you? And you did it?” Sandor’s voice had gone from growling to menacing. The two boys’ eyes were so wide, they were nearly popping out of their heads. Saul, the red-headed boy, nodded vigorously, his voice had been reduced to a squeak. Sandor stole a look at the rest of the group. They were close enough that they should have been able to hear him. He noticed with satisfaction that most of them had lost a bit of color, some more than others, and the humor they had in seeing their mousy comrades approach the Hound was long gone. If it was one thing he hated, it was bigger people taking advantage of smaller ones for their own benefit.

“All right, you buggering fools! Five laps around the wall-walk! Get going, right now! Last one back has to clean Moonboy’s privy!” Sandor boomed out. The group of boys nearly tripped over themselves to get to their task. He held back the two in front of him. “Not you two. I have something else in mind for you.”

One of the boys in the group had stayed behind. Tall, blond with hints of red, and handsome, he had stood out from the rest of the rabble and had been the only one to not cower a few moments earlier. His arms were crossed over his chest and he had a defiant look on his face. “Who’s that?” Sandor asked Gar.

“Harlon Lannister, but of one of the branch families. He’s only distantly related to King Joffrey, very distantly,” the boy whispered.

Sandor grunted. He knew the sort. “You two, sort through those practice swords and find the ones in best repair. Any that are too ruined to use, set aside. I’ll deal with those later.”

He started towards the Lannister while the other two ran off to complete their task. “Are you deaf, boy? Start running,” he commanded.

“I think not, _dog_. I do not practice running away,” Harlon sneered. “Teach me the sword or begone with you.”

Sandor closed the gap, standing mere inches away from Harlon. The boy was tall, but Sandor was taller still and towered over him. Harlon tried to step back, but he had been leaning against a wall.

“You refuse to follow, then?” Sandor asked quietly. Harlon swallowed hard, possibly regretting his defiance.

“You can’t hurt me. You’re in service to the Lannisters, my house. Now teach me sword work!” Harlon’s voice had become a bit shrill.

Sandor grinned, accentuating his scars. A practiced smile, it was meant to scare, not reassure. It worked on Harlon. The boy actually squeaked.

“You are mistaken. I _was_ in service to King Joffrey, and only him. Now, not so much. And since Saul over there asked so nicely, I am currently your arms instructor. So either fall in line or _get the hell out_.”

Sandor turned away. He had better things to do.


	30. Arya: A New Dream

Arya shivered as the old woman spoke.

“I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, joined by another, but the first is silenced too soon. I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells. I dreamt of a young girl at a feast, with purple serpents in her burning hair, but the dream changed, the serpents were scared away by a big, black dog, only to be picked up by an old blossom. I dreamt again of the girl and her black dog, running to the north, to turn out the intruders.Their journey is long and twisting. Mockingbirds, lions and men with no skin, among others, seek them out. A straight path will get them killed. They must take the long way to survive.”

The old woman turned her head sharply to look at Arya, “I see you. I see you, wolf child, blood child. I thought it was the lord of corpses who smelled of death…” The old woman began to sob, “You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel! I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart! Begone!”

Arya frowned, thinking the woman had gone mad. Gendry stood behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder, and whispered, “Never mind her. Batty old thing.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow,” she heard Beric tell the old woman. “We’re on our way to Riverrun, to give her back to her mother and brother.”

“Nay”, the crone croaked. “You’re not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If you want her mother, it’s the Twins you’ll find her at. Look into your fires, pink priest. There’s to be a wedding.”

**********

She stared into the fire, listening to the wood crackle as it burned. The men of the Brotherhood were relaxing around it, oblivious to the oncoming storm. In the distance, she heard the thunder roll. The rain would be upon them soon, she could smell it in the air. She had hoped that Gendry would want to stay with her. She wasn’t sure why it hurt so much when he said he wanted to stay with the Brotherhood. It was different from when Hot Pie left. She missed Hot Pie, but she was fine continuing on without him, but Gendry… She pushed away the thought. 

_Never mind, Gendry. He wants to stay? Fine. I don’t need him. I don’t need any of them_ . Her thoughts were turbulent as the rain began to fall. The men were rushing around, trying to cover everything that needed it. She sat there, waiting for the perfect opportunity.  _Now. Go now!_

It took a few moments for them to notice her leaving. Precious seconds that allowed her to escape. She could hear them yelling for her to stop.  _Like I’d really listen to THEM. Stupid Gendry. Stupid Brotherhood. I don’t need them. They are not my pack_ . She couldn’t believe the nerve of those men, insisting that they continue to Riverrun.  _Great Uncle Brynden would never give them the ransom, he does not know me!_

The rain poured down as Arya ran. On and on she ran, never letting up. She had lost the outlaws some time ago, but something in her urged her to keep running.  _To the Twins, to Mother._


	31. Sansa: Property of The Hound

Sansa was disappointed when Sandor didn’t come back for lunch. She had been eager to tell him about her visit with the seamstress. Shae suggested packing a lunch and trying to find him.

“Even if you can’t find him, you can have a little picnic outdoors,” the handmaiden suggested. Sansa liked the idea and asked Shae to join her as well.

They first went to the chambers of the Master of Coin. Lord Tyrion was surprised but pleased to see her.

“No, my lady. The Hound left here a while ago, but I would be happy to help you look for him, if you like. The maester recommended that I walk around every day, and I have yet to do so today.”

Sansa consented to him joining them. Now that she was safely married to Sandor, she felt more at ease with Tyrion. Perhaps it was because his kindness had continued despite their botched betrothal. She knew he was a good person, but she hadn’t been able to really trust him until recently.

Shae seemed pleased, leaving Sansa to wonder if the handmaiden was enamored with the short lord. _Is he the one she keeps running off to see?_ There had been that strange exchange the other day. She had meant to ask Sandor later if he knew something, considering his contribution, but had been pleasantly distracted.

Her pace was leisurely, slow enough for Lord Tyrion’s shorter legs to keep up without overtaxing them.They checked the general dining area, where many of the castle folk had gathered. Joffrey and Margaery were seated together on the dais, with Ser Loras and Ser Meryn close behind them. Margaery was feeding Joffrey, who’s back was to them. Her heart in her throat, praying that Joffrey didn't turn around, Sansa took a quick peek around. Her husband was no where to be seen. She hurried back out, still praying to all the gods that Joffrey wouldn’t notice them. She hadn’t seen him since the wedding banquet, and though she knew he wouldn’t do anything in the view of Margaery or the general public, she did not want to be near him without Sandor or Shae. She had a bad feeling of what might happen if he should catch her alone. She didn't need to fear him, there were so many people around, and his own uncle was escorting her at the moment, but she must have been hurrying from her nervousness, because suddenly Shae cried out, “M’lady!”

Sansa stopped and turned. Little Lord Tyrion was huffing and puffing as he struggled to catch up. When he did, Shae knelt by his side, allowing him to lean on her for support. Sansa was mortified at her own inconsiderate behavior. “Lord Tyrion, I beg your forgiveness, I was not thinking.” She hurriedly rummaged through the food basket they had been carrying and found a skin full of water. He drank deeply, finally finding his usual calm demeanor.

“Lady Sansa, it’s quite alright. I thought I could keep up, but I overestimated myself. I assure you, I am fine. Or I will be. I think it would be best if I rest in that courtyard over there while you continue your search. I think the training yard is your best bet,” Tyrion said. He did look better than he had moments before, but still drained of energy.

Sansa noticed the concern on Shae’s face. _Very enamored_ , Sansa thought. To Tyrion she said, “Of course, my lord. Perhaps I can leave the basket with you? And my handmaiden as well. She can watch over you, should you need any assistance. We packed a lot of food into the basket, as well as some wine, so please feel free to partake of as much of it as you wish. Perhaps it will help you regain some strength.”

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. I would welcome some company as I rest.” Tyrion bowed his head to her, and with Shae’s help, headed towards a bench in the courtyard.

Sansa hurried towards the training yard, eager to see her husband. She smiled when she saw Sandor there, doing some basic swordwork exercises with a group of young men and boys. She watched for a while, admiring his command of the trainees and how his body moved in exercise. It brought back memories of how he moved with her in the bedchamber and she felt her cheeks flush. She considered going up to him for even just a quick kiss, but her father had always said that it wasn’t proper to interrupt training unless it was a dire matter. _Guess I’ll just go back to Shae and Lord Tyrion. We can have a nice lunch together, at least_.

That’s what she wanted to happen. What actually happened was quite different. Joffrey appeared. Without Margaery. Or Ser Loras. Ser Meryn was there, but none of the other kingsguard. The sneering look on the king’s face made Sansa’s heart drop in fear. Sandor couldn’t see her from where he was. She needed to get out of there, towards her husband, towards Lord Tyrion and Shae, just _away_.

“Lady _Clegane_. How nice to see you,” Joffrey said with a smirk. “That’s a lovely gown you’re wearing.”

Sansa gulped, “Th-thank you, Your Grace.” He stood between her and the path back to Shae and Tyrion, so she inched closer to the entrance of the training yard. _Please, please, let Sandor notice me!_ she prayed. “Your outfit is very becoming as well.”

“Oh, do you think so? My lady love helped me pick it out. She’s very fashionable, you know.” Joffrey was circling around her, trying to cut her off from escape.

Thinking quickly, Sansa said, “Are you here looking for my lord husband? Let me get him for you.” She ducked into the training yard. She thought she heard Joffrey hiss at her to stay where she was, but she moved quickly. “My lord!” she called out to Sandor.

He turned, surprised to see her, and about to admonish her for calling him “lord”, but she cut him off, “My _lord_ , I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” When she was close enough to him and sure that Joffrey couldn’t hear her, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Quickly, claim me with a kiss, _now_.” She tilted her head, beckoning towards the king, who was now heading towards them. He did not need further prompting. So intimate a kiss did he give her, she soon forgot why she had asked for it. When he finally broke it off, she felt like she was in a haze. Somehow, she noted that a lot of the people in the yard had turned away, out of respect or because they felt awkward watching such a moment between a husband and wife. Bronn, however, was enjoying the show and grinning from ear to ear.

“I do hope you follow through with _that_ promise once we return to our chambers,” she said with a dreamy smile. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched, but he made no reply. Instead, he turned towards the king, who had caught that comment.

“Your grace,” Sandor said, bowing his head. “My wife says you are looking for me?” He kept his hands on Sansa, who had turned around enough to see Joffrey staring at the two of them. His narrowed eyes were darting back and forth, the wheels in his head turning. Joffrey was not happy to see that display.

“Yes, come see me later today. That is all,” Joffrey said and stalked off in a huff.

**********

“Sandor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your training. I didn’t know what else to do.” She whispered as he walked with her back to their chambers. They had collected the food basket from Shae and Tyrion. Sandor had insisted on eating with her once he found out why she was looking for him.

“It’s alright, little bird. I had kept those boys there long enough anyway. And you stayed there with us until they had finished the exercises, so they had extra motivation to do well.”

“How so?” she asked. She had been comfortably seated during the remaining time spent in the yard, and had enjoyed the better view of her husband. While she had spared some glances towards the trainees, she had spent more time watching Sandor.

“A pretty noblewoman showed up at their training. They all wanted to impress you,” he grinned at her. She smiled shyly back. They had reached their rooms and closed the doors behind them.

“And you? Is that why you were barking extra fiercely at them? To impress me as well?” she asked as he sat at the table. Their chambers were quiet. Shae wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, and the new handmaiden was out somewhere.

“You noticed that, did you?” he asked sheepishly. She grinned and nodded.

“I had been watching you for a while before Joffrey showed up,” she confessed. “You’re quite good with them, actually.”

“You think so?” he asked. He pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled the smooth skin of his burned side.

“Oh, yes. Mother liked to watch Father when he was training. We would sit with her sometimes, Arya and I. You could tell when the training was going well, and when it wasn’t, depending on who did the training. You had that same essence as Father, they looked at you the same way. At least, from what I could tell. My knowledge of such matters is considerably limited," she confessed.

He considered for a moment, “Hmm, it did feel good to instruct them. Maybe I could ask Lord Tywin to allow me to be the Master of Arms here?”

She continued to nuzzle him. “Perhaps.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You have a better idea?”

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully. “Not really, but I did want to ask you something.”

“Ask away.” He pulled out some of the food that was packed in the basket and started eating, offering her a bite but she declined it for the moment.

“It could be considered treasonous, what I’m about to ask,” she warned him in a whisper.

He snorted. “I won’t tell if you won’t. But if it makes you feel better, whisper it in my ear.”

“Is there any possible way you would consider joining Robb?” she asked in a low voice. Sandor went still. She looked up at him nervously. To her surprise, he was considering it thoughtfully.

“I suppose, if we were able to get out of here without the Queen or King raising all Seven Hells,” he said after a few minutes.

“Really??”

“Aye. He is my brother by marriage now, and as long as he doesn’t try to kill me, I would fight for the Starks. Honestly, I want to take you from this place. Neither of us belong here anymore.” He offered her some of the fruit from the basket.

“I agree,” she said, taking the offered fruit. “We could go to our new estate, send word to my mother and brother from there. What is it called, by the way? I didn’t see any name attached to it.”

“Wolf’s Guard.”

“That’s...a bit ominous,” she said, nibbling on the strawberry.

Sandor laughed. “It’s because it’s so close to the edge of the Wolfswood. Like a sentry against all that goes bump in the dark of the forest.”

“It would be nice to return to the North. It’s too warm down here for my tastes.” Sansa imagined living with Sandor in the cold land. _He would look good in the Northern style of clothing_ , she thought. _And I think he’d enjoy life there as well. He’d certainly fit in with the strong, but silent men!_ She smiled to herself.

“Aye, little bird, a change of scenery would be good for both of us. I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.


	32. Tyrion: Jealousy

Tyrion heard Joffrey before he saw him, and managed to duck behind a large shrub with Shae before the boy entered the courtyard. His dear nephew was perturbed by something and Tyrion wanted to know what.

“That...that _traitor’s spawn!_ How could she...when did he...how is it possible for her to be happy married to a _dog_?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes, _Trust Joffrey to not understand_.

“Well? I asked you a question!” the boy demanded of Ser Meryn. The knight shook his head.

“I do not know, Your Grace. Perhaps she is a bit touched in the head? Or maybe all she needed was bit of discipline and Clegane gave it to her.”

“What? I gave her plenty of discipline!” the boy shrieked.

_He’s jealous? Of Sandor Clegane? Well, I guess it IS envious that he managed to snag not just her hand in marriage, but also her heart. But Joffrey doesn’t know about that part, at least, I don’t think he’s realized it yet. Otherwise, they’d be on the short list for execution. And on top of that, HE’S the one who gave Clegane her hand to begin with._

“Perhaps he just has a way with her, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps...but--”

Shae pulled Tyrion further behind the shrub. From the other side, a servant walked hurriedly, “Your Grace, the Queen Regent is looking for you. She asked that you attend to her in her chambers immediately.”

The boy scoffed, “Very well. Meryn, find Boros. Meet me at my mother’s rooms. I do not intend to stay for long.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Meryn bowed and hurried off as the king left as well, followed by the servant.

“Hmph, I should have had Boros Blount killed when I had a chance. I still can’t believe my father reinstated him. He’s a horrible guard for the king!” Tyrion exclaimed.

“Maybe he has some redeeming qualities that your father sees?” Shae asked.

Tyrion snorted, “More likely he just hasn’t seen his faults yet.”

**********

Much later that afternoon, Tyrion waited patiently with Bronn, Pod and the other representatives for the king. He felt they had been waiting for hours for the Martells to arrive. His time alone with Shae had been all too brief, but after Sansa had come back to claim the basket of food, Shae had “helped” him back to his chambers. It had been a quick tumble, to be sure, but no less satisfying, though his overexertion from earlier had nearly left him flat on his back. _Completely worth it_.

If he closed his eyes, he could still imagine her above him. She had taken pity on him and pushed him on his back. Massaging first his arms, from his wrists up to his shoulders, then his legs, from his ankles up to his waist. It was one of the few times he was thankful to be a dwarf, because it meant she didn’t have to take so long. Enjoyable as it was, he was hard and wanting by the time she reached his first elbow. In between limbs, she had given his cock a sensual kiss, but nothing more, not until she had finished with his second leg. She said it so playfully, it was obvious that Shae had teased him about not being able to continue to his third leg, that her hands were too tired. He had played along, asking what could be done about the dilemma in a pained voice. She had pretended to think about it, lightly playing with the tip of his cock as she “thought”. He hated and loved it when she got into these torturous moods. It was like she was priming him up like a crossbow, making him taut with desire, and at the perfect moment, launching his “bolt”. He laughed about it now, but at the time, it had been nerve-wracking.

After several maddening moments later, and his pitiful whimpers, she took him into her mouth all at once, and he heard himself gasp very audibly. Shae the funny whore had disappeared, and Shae the caring lover had emerged. Her tongue skillfully played along the skin of his cock, as if she were a musician and he was the instrument. Certainly, she enjoyed the music of his sighs and moans. It wasn’t enough, however. He could tell when she meant to bring him to completion, and when she was just getting him ready for something else. This was definitely the latter. He cried out her name, pleading with her. Swiftly she let go of him and mounted him. She had been ready for him, oh so deliciously ready. He felt her quivering around him as she held herself completely still, and then grinding down on him. It didn’t take long for either of them to reach climax.

He could still smell the scent of their sex lingering around him. It eased his mind to know Shae was waiting for him back at the castle, even if it wasn’t in his chambers. The gods knew he would need every ounce of stress relief once the Martells arrived, and Shae had told him that her employers ended up giving her plenty of time off so that they were able to have alone time, allowing her to visit Tyrion more often. He had chuckled at that, since Sandor Clegane was the last person he had ever expected to being in that sort of marriage. _The fearsome Hound, brought to heel by a young woman_. He wondered how the rest of the court would react if they knew. Clegane was not as surly any more, but was still very much unapproachable.

Finally, in the far off distance, he could see the procession marching towards King’s Landing.

“Pod, can you tell me what banners you see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, I was watching UFC189 last night, and by the time I got home, I was too tired to upload the chapter and slept really late this morning.


	33. Catelyn: Urgent Message

Catelyn was worried. Nothing seemed to be amiss, but her instincts were screaming that something was wrong. The meeting with Walder Frey had gone as smoothly as possible, considering the old letch threw as many insults out as he could. The Boltons had arrived as well, with news of the freed people from Winterfell.

She couldn’t place her finger on it, but something was off here, and she couldn’t be calm until they left the Twins in their dust.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She opened it warily to a servant girl. “Yes?”

“M’lady, there’s a child at the front hall insisting to speak with you. Says ‘e has an urgent message for your ears alone.” The girl looked nervous.

“Bring him on up, I’ll speak to him in here. But send a message to King Robb as well, ask him to join me.”

“At once, m’lady.” The girl bowed and hurried off.

Minutes ticked by, and another knock at the door. Robb entered. “What’s this about, Mother?”

“I don’t know. I was told there was an urgent message for me, but I felt I should not meet the messenger alone. He should be here any moment. Stand behind the door when he enters, just in case, so that he does not see you.”

“Of course, Mother.”

A third knock on her door. She rose to answer it as Robb took his place behind it. A young, extremely dirty child entered. The servant girl bowed and left them.

“Well, child, what is your message?”

The child looked behind, to make sure the servant girl was really gone, then pushed back the hair falling over to hide her eyes. “Mother!”

Catelyn gasped, “Arya!” as the girl launched herself into her mother’s arms. “Oh my goodness, Arya, my baby girl! Robb, shut the door quickly!”

Arya turned to see her eldest brother closing the door to her mother’s room and proceeded to launch herself into his arms as well. “Robb! I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Arya! You’ve grown, and you stink,” he said to her, grinning.

“Says you!” Arya punched him lightly.

“Arya,” her mother said warningly. Arya bowed her head meekly. “Come with me, we’ll get you cleaned up, and you can tell me everything that has happened.” Arya nodded and followed her mother to the bathing area.

“Robb,” Catelyn called back to him. “Say nothing of this to anyone, not even Edmure.”

“As you wish, Mother.”

**********

“Let me get this straight. You escaped from King’s Landing with Yoren of the Night’s Watch, disguised as a boy, then you were captured and taken to Harrenhal, where you became a cupbearer to Tywin Lannister. You escaped from there, with Gendry and...Hot Pie?” Arya nodded. “And the three of you were heading to Riverrun when you were captured again, this time by the outlaw band known as the Brotherhood Without Banners, lead by Ser Beric Dondarrion. Hot Pie stayed behind at the inn to serve as a baker’s apprentice. Ser Beric was going to take you to Riverrun, for a ransom from us, but when you found out from…”

“The witch.” Arya had been nibbling on some cheese and bread after her bath. The clothes she had arrived in were too far gone, so Catelyn had Robb find some clothing. He had come back with a plain serviceable boy’s outfit. Catelyn didn’t like it, but her daughter needed to stay hidden, and since she had arrived as a boy, it made sense to keep people thinking she was one.

Catelyn nodded, “From the witch that we were heading towards the Twins, you escaped from them as well, leaving Gendry behind. You managed to get here by convincing a merchant on a passing cart to bring you here, in exchange for helping sell his wares.”

“Yes, Mother, that’s basically it. It turns out I wasn't that far from the Twins after all. Less than a week's travel. I was pretty good at it, too. He even paid me a little because I helped so much.” Catelyn felt that her daughter was keeping something held back, but didn’t push her about it. There was time for that later on.

“Well, once we are done with this wedding, you and I will head back to Riverrun.” She used a towel to dry Arya’s hair. It had been badly matted and in dire need of a good washing. It had taken three washings to get all the grime and dirt out of it. Catelyn wanted to send her daughter ahead of them, but couldn’t risk it. She didn’t want Walder Frey finding out about Arya. She would be able to hide in their numbers when they left after the wedding.

“What about Sansa? Have you heard from her?” Catelyn’s arms stilled. “Mother?” Arya asked from beneath the towel.

She resumed drying. “There has been some news. But we are not sure how accurate it is, at least, parts of it.”

“Mother, what is it?” Arya pushed back the towel to peer at her mother’s face, her eyes wide with concern. Catelyn sighed heavily and set the towel to the side for the moment.

“Sansa was married off by the Lannisters. We believe that it was to secure her claim on Winterfell, should anything happen to Robb...”

“But?”

“But...we received a letter from Sansa. She does not refute that it was sudden and done without her knowledge, but she claims to be happy with the...the man that she married.” Catelyn felt the tears well up in her eyes.

Arya's eyes narrowed, “Who did she marry?”

“She married….Sandor Clegane.”

“ _The Hound?!_ ” Arya exclaimed.

“Yes, him.”

“But...but...he’s on my list!”

“List?” Catelyn gave her daughter a confused look. The girl dropped her gaze to the floor, fidgeting under her mother’s stare. Catelyn raised an eyebrow and said with a warning, “Arya…”

Guiltily, she replied, “Um, my list of people that I will...one day...take revenge on?”

“Oh, Arya…”

“They have it coming, Mother.” Arya said defensively. Catelyn began to brush the girl’s hair. _My darling little wild child, what will I ever do with you?_ But she could not condemn Arya’s list, not in her heart.

“I know, darling, but if Sansa is telling the truth, then Clegane is your brother by marriage. She loves him, or at least claims to, and you must learn to tolerate his presence when you are around him. If you’re lucky, it won’t be very long. Your father and aunt hardly ever saw each other.”

“And if she does not really love him?” Arya asked.

“Robb has sworn to make her a widow. He plans to send someone to find out.”

“When?”

“It took me a while to convince him to do that and not just kill the man outright. Once we leave, Robb will send someone to King's Landing. We don’t want to alarm the Freys by sending anyone before then. It’s a shame you can’t attend, you’d enjoy the feast and seeing your uncle.”

“Do I really have to stay hidden up here?” Arya whined. _She did always enjoy the festivities_ , Catelyn remembered.

“Yes, my darling, you must stay hidden. We cannot allow the Freys to know you are here, lest they demand your hand as well for one of their boys. I’ll come back with more food afterwards,” she promised. “But stay here.”

“Yes, Mother.”


	34. Tyrion: Reptiles and Felines

The viper known as Oberyn Martell sat in the chair opposite his own. After the Martell party had descended upon King’s Landing, Tyrion had thought to find a reprieve in his hosting duties while they all rested up from their journey. He had been disappointed to find Oberyn at his door instead of Shae. 

Oberyn’s body was languid, but his eyes were not. Tyrion felt like they were two daggers ripping straight into his soul, though he kept his face in a practiced neutral look.

“I hear the younger Clegane is in residence,” the younger Martell said softly.

Tyrion gave him a tight smile, “He is. Recently wed as well.”

“Oh? I might wish to offer him felicitations then. Where might I find the happy couple?” His smile was anything but friendly.

“Do you blame Sandor for your sister and her children as well?” Tyrion decided the direct approach was best for this man.

“Not directly, no. He was at Casterly Rock, guarding your sister, was he not?” Oberyn asked, a bit surprised.

“I believe he was fighting out on the field at the time, but still far away from King’s Landing. To my thinking, he cannot even be held indirectly responsible. No matter where he was, he was not here, and as the  _younger_ Clegane, he has no power over his brother,” Tyrion said. “And, I would like to point out, that they are nothing alike. He hates Gregor. Cersei and I have a better relationship than the Clegane brothers, and you, of all people, know how she feels about me,” he said, remembering the anecdote from earlier in the day.

The Dornishman thought about this. “He hates his brother? Truely?”

“He does. He does not speak of it to many, but I have been around the man a large amount of my life. He and Gregor are both fierce warriors, but beyond that, you might as well be comparing me to Gregor for all the good it would do you.”

“I see. Well, I can certainly understand being different from one’s own brother,” he said.

“Can’t we all?” Tyrion asked, thinking of Jaime.

Oberyn considered Tyrion for a moment, “You are quite protective of him.”

Tyrion was startled by the observation, “Oh, yes, I suppose I am. He and I have become...well, I suppose you could call us friends, after a fashion.”

“Lovers?” Oberyn asked in an amused manner.

Amused, Tyrion snorted and replied, “Even if he and I were both inclined to like men, I’m fairly certain the Hound would break me in half and make me the Quarter-Man. I’m not sure how his wife manages, but, thankfully, that is none of my concern.”

Oberyn chuckled, “Well, I would not even say he is indirectly responsible for Elia, but I do wish to speak to him of his brother. Any information he can provide me could be of help. The Mountain will return to King’s Landing eventually, and I will be waiting for him. In the mean time, I will not dawdle, I will not rest, not until I find what I am looking for. So, will you introduce me to Sandor Clegane, or will I have to find them myself?”


	35. Sandor: As You Say, Your Grace

Sandor stood patiently as Joffrey paced the room. When he had arrived a few minutes earlier, the king had demanded that he be left alone with his former bodyguard. Since then, he hadn’t said a word. He had tried to, but every time he started to say something, he stopped and reconsidered. 

Sandor would have found all this funny if he wasn’t irritated already. Many of the knights and courtiers had been whispering about the exchange in the training yard earlier. The gossip spread quicker than wildfire. The current story was that he had threatened her life to get her to act like that, while another theory he had heard was that he had paid a magician for a bewitchment potion. While he didn’t particularly care what was said, he knew Sansa didn’t like it.  _Why is it anyone’s business on how we get along?_ he thought, though he knew why everyone was so interested. It was unbelievable that anyone could love a man such as the Hound.

Finally, Joffrey said, “How goes your marriage with Sansa?”

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “Well enough, your grace.” 

“If I ordered you to bring her to my…” his voice died down as Sandor fixed a steely glare on the young king. Years of cleaning up after the brat, of looking after him, of protecting him, of having to deal with his shitty personality and character flaws went into that glare. _Just try and take her from me_ , he thought. 

Joffrey's eyes were wide as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly with fear. He voice broke a little as he said, “Nevermind. Leave me be now.”

“As you say, your grace,” he rasped. He would have crowed if he wasn't so pissed about the audacity of the blond idiot he called King. Sandor bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn stood outside the door.

“Will you be bringing your wife straight away to the king, or will it be later, Hound?” Boros chortled. Sandor gazed at him with contempt. 

“What makes you ask?” he asked with a hint of menace. Ser Boros did not take that hint and opened his mouth to say more.

“Never mind him, Hound. He’s just happy to have his place back on the Kingsguard. He’s still not sure when to keep his mouth shut,” Meryn interjected. 

Sandor gave a curt nod and moved to leave, but Boros would not stop. “Don’t be shy, Meryn. She might be a bit old for your tastes, but the Hound still has a tasty, young wife. I was asking because I’d like to be on guard when you do bring her. She must moan so sweetly with that pretty little noble mouth of hers. The king was saying we could wat--”

It was over before Boros knew what happened. His own sword stuck out from his neck, a soft spot just above where his armor stopped. Sandor let get of the hilt and Boros sunk to the ground, blood seeping out from the wound as he made gurgling noises.

Sandor stalked off without giving him the gift of mercy. “The man wasn’t qualified to wear the white anyway,” Meryn said to no one in particular as he pulled the sword out of the dying man.


	36. Sansa: Dream A Little Dream

Sansa awoke from her dream in a cold sweat. Sandor slept on, but she did not want to wake him. He had come back to their chambers in a mood and it had taken all of her efforts to calm him down, though he refused to tell her exactly what had gotten him so frustrated. 

“Bloody little twat of a king and his bloody obnoxious Ser Boros,” was the only explanation he would give. She did not push him about it, though her curiosity was burning.

His loving had been fierce after that, leaving the beginnings of small fingerprint-like bruises on her hips as he took her from behind, bending her over the trunk at the foot of their bed, whispering to her to sing his name. She did not disappoint him and cried out his name as he brought her to her peak. She didn’t mind the marks, hadn’t even noticed when they were created. She had been too caught up in the feelings he had stirred in her. He had kissed each one in apology, and loved her again, moving her to the bed and this time more gently, leaving her feeling cherished as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The moon was high in the sky as she got out of bed and looked out at the city below. Her dream had faded from memory the moment she had woken up, though the horror she had felt was still there. A rare, cold wind was blowing from the North, making her shiver.  _Or is that my imagination?_ she thought as she climbed back into bed. She snuggled up to Sandor, but she could not rid herself of the feeling of dread. As she fell back asleep, she thought of her father’s words, “Winter is coming.” 

Her sleep was dark, and full of horrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post today. Super long chapter tomorrow.


	37. Arya: Red Wedding

Arya couldn’t sit still. She wanted to see the wedding, to enjoy the feast with the others.  _At the very least, I could sneak down and just LOOK. No one here knows me. Robb’s men would assume I’m a Frey, the Freys will assume I’m with Robb’s men. And if I can find something to hood my face, even better!_ She took her dagger with her, just in case.  _You never know when you’ll need it!_ she thought to herself with a grin, slicing off a turkey leg without anyone being the wiser.

She snuck onto one of the empty balconies, munching on the juicy turkey. She had managed to snag some bread and some fruit as well. Uncle Edmure and his new wife were being hoisted up and taken to their rooms for the bedding ceremony. The musicians were playing a jaunty tune, and all in all, was very enjoyable. 

Then Arya noticed that some of the people were moving as if to leave, but were only going as far as the perimeter of the dining hall.  _That’s odd._ She frowned when a glint of steel caught her eye.  _Armor? Why would they be wearing armor? Unless they expect an attack…but this is a wedding..._

The music changed, a song that she only vaguely recognized, but the look on her mother’s face told her everything she needed to know.  _Something is about to happen! Something bad!_

She shrank back into the shadows as archers filed into the balconies. Three entered the one she occupied. They did not notice her, or her dagger, until it was too late. Chaos had erupted. Arya took down the three archers in quick succession. Pulling her makeshift hood close so that no one could see her face, she gathered up the quivers and took up a bow. It was larger than she was used to, and her first arrow missed the mark by a few inches, striking a Frey in the shoulder instead of the heart, but she adjusted quickly.

Every arrow after that found its mark, but it was not enough. She barely made a dent in the Frey forces. She watched in horror as not only the Stark bannermen, but also her brother were killed off one after another. Her mother laughed manically as a Frey man came up behind her. Arya pulled her rage and sorrow inwards, honing her intent, as the tears fell silently.  _If I can save anyone, let it be her!_ An arrow flew from her bow, striking between the eyes of the man as he began to slit her mother’s throat.  _No! Nonononononoooo!_

Catelyn’s eyes found Arya’s as the blood spilled down her neck. She could see her mother’s lips moving as she fell to the floor.  _Sansa_ , she was saying.  _Protect Sansa_ . 

One final arrow took out the man who had killed Robb. She wanted to put one in old Walder Frey, but he was long gone and she didn’t have time to hunt him down. The confusion was dying down and soon someone would realize that not all of the archers were Freys, if they hadn’t already. She needed to get out of there.

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water_ . First, get out of the Twins alive. Kill any Frey who gets in her way. And then…  _Back. To King’s Landing. To Sansa._


	38. Sandor: Dark Wings

Sandor awoke to find his wife sitting at the window, staring out with a look of hopelessness on her face. Bleary eyed, he wiped the sleep from his face and asked, “Sansa, are you alright?”

She turned to him, “Good morning, Sandor. Did you sleep well?” Her eyes had dark circles under them.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” He rose from the bed and walked over to her. “Did you sleep at all?”

She shook her head. “Why not?” he asked, picking her up effortlessly and carrying her to the bed.

“I kept having nightmares.”

“Why didn’t you wake me? What were they about?” He nestled her in front of him, allowing her to use his body for support as she lay down.

She shook her head again. “I didn’t want to disturb your sleep. I don’t remember what happened in them. As soon as I woke up, it was gone, but...I have the most horrible feeling that something bad has happened or is about to happen. I can’t shake it.”

He didn’t know what to tell her, did not know the words to comfort her. He felt helpless, wanted to be able to scream at the nightmares to leave her alone. Instead, he just held her, willing her distress to soak into him, to allow him to take on the burden she felt she was carrying. “I’m here for you, little bird. I’m here,” he whispered as he rubbed her stomach in soft, slow circles.

Slowly, after what felt like an eternity, he felt her body relax, and her breathing became shallow. Sleep had come at last.

He stayed there with her, waving Shae away when she came for her mistress. It was around noon that he left her side, and only because his visitor, Lord Tyrion, had said it was urgent.

Closing the door softly, so as not to wake Sansa, he motioned to the dwarf to join him in the sitting area.

“What do you want, Imp?” he asked gruffly. 

“I asked to see both your and your lady wife.” Tyrion looked awful, Sandor noted as they sat down, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“She’s indisposed at the moment. I repeat, what do you want?”

Tyrion was silent for a moment, playing with a thread that had come loose from a pillow near him. He spoke, “Clegane, you know I have vowed to make amends to Sansa of House Stark, now of House Clegane.”

“Aye.”

“It brings me no pleasure, indeed, I am most distressed to bring this news to you, but it would seem that my lord father has...has made an alliance with House Frey.”

“What of it?” Sandor frowned. He wasn’t sure where the Imp was going with this and was starting to lose his patience.

“What do you know of Sansa’s brother, Robb? Of his exploits in the war?” Tyrion asked delicately.

Sandor thought about it, “He’s called the Young Wolf. He’s won every battle he’s fought. I think I heard something about him having a wolf pack as part of his army.”

“That’s all you’ve heard?”

Sandor thought a bit, “Aye, I believe so.”

“Then let me inform you of a little more. Months ago, Robb made an alliance with Walder Frey in exchange for crossing the Twins. According to Varys’ spies, the deal was that Robb would marry one of Walder’s daughters. However, he met and married Jeyne Westerling.” Tyrion looked a bit haggard.

“Westerling? Isn’t that one of the Lannister bannermen?” Shae entered to bring them refreshments.

“Indeed. She was a pretty child, last I saw of her. I can see how Robb became entranced.” Shae snorted at this, but Tyrion continued. “Now, Walder Frey, as you know, is not known for being the forgiving type, but it seems he sent an envoy to Robb, and it was agreed that Lord Edmure of Riverrun will take Robb’s place.”

“Am I to send a fruit basket to him then?” Sandor sneered. He picked up an apple from the array of fruit.

Tyrion gave him a wry smile. “If you’d like. But, that is not the end of the story. You see, it seems that my dear father gave Walder Frey certain...assurances. In exchange for Frey’s help in murdering the Starks.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Shae staggered back a bit, as stunned as Sandor. “He. Did. WHAT?!” he bellowed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests.

Eyes lowered, Tyrion said flatly, “My lord father, Tywin Lannister, convinced Lord Walder Frey to murder not only Robb Stark, but also Catelyn Stark, and much of their army.” Sandor was up in a flash, with the Imp pinned to the wall, his previously occupied chair pushed backward in the struggle. 

“Are you fucking KIDDING me?!” Sandor roared. Shae was pulling on his tunic, begging him to let go.

“Please! Clegane! I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this!,” Tyrion gasped. “If I had known of it, I would have stopped it, or at least tried to!” His short legs were flailing and he was hitting Sandor’s hands with his own, but to no avail.

“Sandor,” they all heard a soft voice from the doorway behind him. “Put him down. Now.” Sandor obeyed, but growled at the Half-man.

Sansa entered the room slowly, looking groggy from having just woken up. She had put on a thick robe, but her feet were still bare, Sandor noted. “Li--” he coughed, and started again, “Sansa, how long have you been there?”

“Not long. I came in to see you throwing Lord Tyrion against the wall. Now, both of you, sit down. Shae, be a dear and bring me something to drink. I am parched.”

“At once, m’lady.” Shae hurried off to do her bidding. Sansa took a seat on the couch. Sandor sat beside her. She extended her arm to rest her hand on his knee.

“Lord Tyrion, if you would be so kind, what did you tell my husband that sent him into such a fury? What did you have nothing to do with?”

“My lady, I--” he stopped, his sorrow plain to see. “Sansa, I beg your forgiveness. I swear to you, if I had been able to change it, I would.”

“Change what, Lord Tyrion?” she asked softly.

He looked to Sandor, who only glared at him. Clearing his throat, Tyrion said, “My lady, I regret to inform you that...that your brother and mother died last night.”

She made no reaction, except to squeeze Sandor’s knee. He covered her hand with his own. Sansa turned to him briefly, gratitude in her eyes, and then focused again on the Imp.

“H-how?” she rasped. “What happened?”

_She’s trying not to cry_ , Sandor thought, and remembered the fondness and love in her voice when she had spoken of her family previously.  _How is she able to hold that much emotion at bay right now?_

“My lady, I do not think it would be wise to tell you of it...it was no where near being an honorable death,” Tyrion said timidly, cringing under her gaze. Sandor felt a small amount of satisfaction that his wife, his dear little bird, was able to bring the former Hand, a member of the mighty House Lannister to near tears.

She lowered her eyes to the ground, Sandor expected her to say no, to take back her request, but she squared her shoulders and raised her eyes to meet Tyrion’s. He seemed to shrink a little under her gaze.

“Tell me, Lord Tyrion, everything you know about this,” she said, her eyes were glistening, but there was steel in her voice.

**********

After Tyrion left, the air held an awful silence. Sansa walked towards their bedchamber. Her eyes were that of the dead, as if the light had been snuffed out.

“Little bird…” She turned to look at him. “Sansa, is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

She tilted her head, staring at him, but not seeing him. “I just...I need some space. I’ll be fine.”

Sandor took three steps to close the gap between them, grasping her tiny hand in his giant one. “Little bird, I’m here for you.” He pulled a handkerchief from inside his shirt and placed it in her palm. “For your tears, but also…” he struggled with the right words to say, “to remind you. No matter how much distance is between us, I will always be here for you. I will give you your space, but call for me when you need me.”

Sansa looked down at the cloth that he had given her. He held his breath, nervous about what she might say, what she might think. It was just a small thing. A small thing he kept on his person whenever he was awake, and even sometimes when he slept. It was just a token, just a trifle. A small, grey cloth, given to him at a time when he needed strength, given to him by a beautiful green girl, and embroidered with a fierce black dog that protected a small red bird. She nodded in agreement before shutting the door.

He checked on her every so often, never straying too far from her, and joined her in bed that night, holding her close. She only woke long enough to drink a bit, eat even less, and then cry herself back to sleep. The next morning, Sandor asked Shae to keep a closer than usual eye on her.

“I’ll be at the training yard, if she needs me.”

“M’lord, is that wise? To go so far? When Lady Sansa is like this?” Shae asked cautiously.

He saw her shy back as his jaw clenched, but it was from frustration, not anger. “I’m no good to her here, not right now. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Lord Tywin will be willing to spar with me,” he said with a dark smile as he left.

Truthfully, he was in a dangerous mood, and knew that Tywin wouldn’t even get a chance to pick up a sword if Sandor came across him. His hands were itching to do some damage to something, anything. The last thing he needed was to run into any of the offending Lannisters. So of course, a servant came running to tell him that the Queen requested his presence. He hadn’t even yet picked up a practice sword.

“Seven  _hells_ . Can she wait?” The boy shook his head. “Fine, I’ll be there shortly,” Sandor growled.

**********

Cersei was ecstatic when Sandor entered her chamber.

“Isn’t it grand? Three of those so-called kings are gone, now only Stannis is left to deal with,” she said. “I assume you’ve heard already, your family by marriage has been made smaller?”

It took all Sandor had to keep his emotions disguised, only noticeable by the constant flexing of his jaw muscle. Flatly, he replied, “Yes, your grace. I heard.” 

“And, um...how did the little dove take the news?” Cersei asked, nervously pulling on the hem of her sleeve. Sandor watched the queen carefully. She was not looking at him, but her tone as she asked and the nervous tell he recognized from days past implied that she had at least  some concern over Sansa’s well-being. 

_Not that much, though_ , he thought to himself. “She took it well enough, but she will be in mourning for a while,” Sandor said cautiously. 

A flicker of pain crossed her pretty face, but just as quick her mask was back and Cersei smiled her queenly smile, “Poor little thing. It’s dreadful that it had to happen this way, but such is the way of war.”

Sandor said nothing to that. Cersei kept going, “Please tell her we all send our condolences, the king most of all.”

The burnt corner of his mouth twitched. “Of course, your grace.”

She moved in front of him, looking up at his face, or rather at the good side of his face, for several moments. Her eyes flickered over to the burned side once or twice. He could see the wheels in her head turning.

“Is there something else, your grace?” He asked, clearly irritated.

She didn’t respond at first, just gave him that irritatingly patient smile, and then “You’ve bedded her, yes?”

Sandor cocked an unburnt eyebrow. “Aye, I provided the linens to Lord Tywin and Grand Maester Pycelle as proof.”

“Indulge my curiosity. How did you do it?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. He heard the door start to open behind him.

“How did you manage to get her to do it?” She made a vague motion to his scars. “Was she even conscious?”

That really rankled Sandor. He had never needed to force a woman to his bed. If they didn’t want him, he didn’t want them either. Even the whores he had paid were rejected if they showed their revulsion too plainly. He briefly imagined tying up Cersei, and anyone else who assumed he had to force his wife, and forcing  _them_ to watch as he not only bedded Sansa, but also made her  _sing_ . 

“I bet he had to take her from behind, Mother,” Joffrey chimed in. “He is a dog, after all.”

Reflecting on their sex life, Sandor noted that he had only taken Sansa a handful of times in that position, and while she had enjoyed it, she preferred to be facing him. Before this debacle, they would have been likened more to rabbits than dogs. More than half of those times it had been Sansa who had dragged him to the bedchambers.  _What would they think of the little bird if they knew that?_ he thought ruefully.  He would have found it all very humorous if not for Joffrey. The little cunt seemed to have forgotten the silent warning Sandor had given him, as well as the lesson Ser Boros had learned.

He swaggered in, Ser Meryn trailing behind him at a respectable distance. Loras, who stood outside the doorway, gave a nod to Sandor, who returned it. The king’s wolfish grin dimmed a bit as he looked upon Sandor’s glowering face, but did not drop completely.

“Joffrey, dear, what brings you here?” Cersei asked sweetly. The boy glanced over to Sandor, then back towards his mother. A malicious grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I wanted to discuss the wedding feast. I still want to--”

“Joffrey!” Cersei interrupted, “I almost forgot, I have something for you. Clegane, you are dismissed. Please shut the door behind you.”

Sandor bowed and exited. The door was shut with a loud thunk, but he could still hear their voices, albeit muffled.

“Why did you dismiss him? Mother, I demand Robb Stark’s head on that platter!”

“Joff, sweetling, I’m sorry, but we  _cannot_ do that. It would be disastrous for the wedding guests.” Sandor felt something snap. He was about to reenter the room to rip Joffrey in half, when Loras piped up.

“Clegane, I heard about your wife’s family. Please send my condolences to her. I met her mother once. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. I never met her brother, but I had heard many good things about him.”

Sandor paused. “They were both good people. I will convey your message.” He didn’t like that Loras had distracted him, but it had been enough to put him off regicide/suicide. For the moment, anyway. His anger had only been cooled to a mere simmer, after all.

“My sister would like to visit your wife, when she is ready to accept visits, of course,” Loras added.

Sandor clenched his fist, but nodded, “I’ll make sure I send her a note ‘round to her when that time comes. Sansa is quite fond of Lady Margaery. I’m sure she would like to see her.”

He said good-bye to Loras and headed back to the training yard to exorcise the anger barely being held in. Bronn was there and for once kept his comments to himself as they trained. Afterwards, he offered his condolences and asked Sandor to let Lady Sansa know that he did not pray often, but that he would pray for her and her slain kin. 

A note had been left for him when he returned to their chambers. Oberyn Martell was sending his condolences as well, and also asked to meet with Sandor and his wife, when they were up to it.

Sandor was beginning to hate the word.  _Fuck their condolences_ , he thought as he crumbled up the note.

He couldn’t deal with it the same way Sansa did, folding in on herself in her grief. He felt only anger at his former masters, felt only sorrow for his goodmother, goodbrother and their men. He wanted to fight, but there was no enemy in front of him. Only politics and courtiers.

He was at the training yard constantly when he was not with Sansa. It was the only thing that gave him any relief, that allowed him to burn off the anger he felt. The boys were innocent though, so he was careful to not take it out on them, but woe be to any man who decided to spar with him, especially if they wore Lannister red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with making this into two chapters instead of one, but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of Sandor's POV by switching to another person or events.


	39. Sansa:  Mourning Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words yesterday. I was really nervous about that chapter. I hope I am able to live up to all of your expectations of my writing.

Sansa awoke to a headache and the echo of a voice. _A dream?_ she thought. The light filtering in through the windows was dim, but she couldn’t tell if it was morning or evening. Sandor wasn’t there, but that didn’t tell her anything. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.  _My husband, my warrior, my protector_ , she thought fondly. Unlike her, he couldn’t sit still in this type of situation. She wished he was here, however, his strong arms were a balm to her tormented soul. While melodramatic, she felt it was an accurate description. Calling out for Shae, she made her way to the privy. 

“M’lady?” Shae asked after Sansa returned to the bedchamber.

“Shae, where is my husband?”

“I am not certain, milady. He returned to check on you a few hours ago, but left shortly after that. Shall I go find him for you?”

“No, I’m sure he will be here soon. Will you please order a bath for me? I need to rid myself of this grime. I feel like I am coated in it.”

“Are you feeling better?” the maid asked cautiously. Sansa gave her a small smile.

“A bit.” _I no longer feel the deep gut-wrenching pain. I don't feel anything, not really. Is that a good thing?_

“I am overjoyed to hear even that, m’lady.” Shae tried to hide her broad smile, and bowed low before leaving. Sansa sat at the window again, wondering how life had gotten so turned upside down.

_How long has it been? The nightmares seemed to run on forever. Has it been days? Surely not weeks. If only I could see Mother one last time. Did she get my letter? Did she know I was happy?_

She had dreamed of her mother and brother. Of all the dreams she had had recently, it was the only one she could remember clearly. She had seen them cross a field, and walk into a castle that looked a lot like Winterfell. Her father had been there, waiting for them. Lady had been there, sitting next to Lord Stark. A man who looked an awful lot like her father was there, and a woman who reminded her strongly of her sister Arya. There were other people there too. She thought she had seen Mikken and Ser Rodrik but if it was them, they were too far away. She noticed that her mother cried when she saw the man who looked like Father, but the man laughed and reassured her mother about whatever had upset her. 

A burning darkness was creeping up behind her mother and brother. Lord Stark had noticed and was urging them to come further into the castle. Robb did, but her mother stayed where she was, looking back from where she came, but she did not see the dark fire. Father reached for her, but flames shot up and surrounded Mother, pulling her back and out of the castle. She had clawed at the flames, trying to break free, but to no avail. Father ran after her, but was unable to cross the threshold.

The dream had faded to blackness after that, and that voice called to her. Sansa pondered what it meant, if it meant anything at all. If Maester Luwin were around, she would ask him, but she didn’t trust any of the maesters in the capital.  _Perhaps Lord Tyrion could recommend someone_ , she thought. She believed him when he said he was not involved with the Freys, and would have done something to prevent it, if he had known. As far as she could tell, Tyrion was the most level-headed of all the Lannisters, though to be fair, she hadn’t spent a lot of time around Ser Jaime, so she wasn’t sure how accurate her observation was. 

_That voice..._ She had heard it before, a faint whisper throughout her dreams, calling to her. At first, she could not hear it well enough to know whose voice it was, but with this last dream... 

She heard the door open and turned, expecting to find Shae, but it was Sandor who stood before her.

She thought she had no more tears in her, but at the sight of her husband, they suddenly came bursting forth and she threw herself into his arms. Tears of joy and tears of sorrow, mixed together into one confusing bundle. He caught her easily. “There, there, little bird. It’ll be alright.”

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know you abhor showing weakness…” Sandor flicked her lightly on the nose. “Sandor!” She was appalled.

He chuckled. “It’s an appropriate time to be weak, little bird. Pay me no mind if you want to cry your eyes out day and night. I’ll still be here. I’ll hold you or leave you be, whatever you wish. It is admirable that you are able to keep it together in front of everyone else though.”

“You seem to be in better spirits than when I saw you last,” she said, rubbing her nose.

“As do you. I’ve been at the training yard nearly all day. And it seems pointless to stay angry when it's only the two of us. Wait until we're in the presence of the king, queen regent, or the Hand,” he said. "I won't seem so well-spirited then." He grinned maliciously.

“Oh, that would be interesting to see, but probably not the best way to keep your head secured to your body,” She smiled at him as best she could. She knew he was trying to cheer her up with a bit of his characteristic black humor, and she did appreciate it. His face was an open book to her now, every twitch and slight movement to his varying degrees of smiles and frowns. She wanted to be happy, but the feeling was out of reach. Her joy mere moments ago from seeing her husband had dwindled to a small flicker and she could not breathe life back into it, no matter how much she desired to do so. 

“How are you feeling, little bird? Be honest,” he warned, raising his hand to flick her nose again. She gave another sad smile. She knew better than to lie to him, of course.

“Better, but...I feel like there’s been a veil thrown over the world. Like nothing will be as bright as it once was. At first, I couldn’t function.”

“I remember,” he whispered, holding her tight.

“But, while I was in my...I guess you could call it a catatonic state, I heard you. You were calling to me. Like a bright beacon in the middle of a dark fog.” She looked up at him.

He frowned. “I tried not to disturb your sleep…” 

Another smile, small, but a real one this time. “No, not your physical voice. Here,” she tapped his chest, “I could heard your heart, calling to me, pulling me back. I would have been lost without it. I could barely hear it at first, but it became stronger and stronger until I was returned to the waking world.”

He considered her for a moment. “Would you like to join me in a practice one of these days?” he asked suddenly. “It’s good for working off bad emotions.”

She was surprised by the sudden change of topic, but also a bit intrigued. She did not want to fall back into the dark depths from which she had only just emerged and latched on to the distraction. “Me? But a lady cannot train as a knight…” she looked up at him shyly. “Can she?”

He shrugged. “You had shown an interest before. Lady Mormont and her daughter are well known as warriors. Your father’s bannermen, I believe. There is Lady Brienne of Tarth as well, though she is held in less esteem than the Mormonts.” He frowned. “Brienne the Beauty, I’ve heard her called, but from what I understand, it is not a compliment. And then of course, there is your sister, a warrior in the making.” He looked back at her. “But, all three of those women, and even your sister, were built for battle. You are not. After working with the trainees, I’ve realized that the way I do it would probably not be the best for you. So if you want to learn to even just defend yourself, it will need to be different.”

“What do you mean? Different how?” she asked, as Shae came in to tell her the bath was ready. She dawdled, not wanting to be away from him.

“I can tell you more later,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Seriously consider it. Taking on something like this takes a lot of concentration and effort, and should not be taken lightly.” 

She nodded and followed Shae.


	40. Tyrion: Cast Me Not Aside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/30/2015  
> Because I'm an idiot....You get a bonus chapter today. APPARENTLY...I skipped a chapter, like an idiot. There was supposed to be an interlude between Sandor and Sansa's chapters, so here ya go. And I only realized it was missing because I was updating the Story Description and was trying to remember something about when Jaime returned to King's Landing, as opposed to when the first Jaime/Brienne chapter was. I feel really, really dumb right now. In case that was not obvious. X_x
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some Tyrion/Shae and Tyrion/Varys banter.
> 
> * * *

Shae had reported to him and Varys about Lady Sansa the day before. Tyrion thought back to the conversation as he sipped his Dornish Red, careful not to spill on the bed, or the woman lying beside him.

_ “M’lords, my mistress is devastated. She sleeps all day and night. When she is awake, she barely eats anything, and she cries. She cries so much,” Shae looked miserable as she spoke. Tyrion felt a tug at his own heart, seeing his Shae so devoted to another, even if it was Sansa. He knew Shae had no romantic interest in the girl, had even been jealous when they all thought Tyrion would be marrying her, but now he was the one that felt jealous that any part of Shae’s heart could be focused on anyone else. _

_ Varys looked thoughtful, “I wonder at the wisdom of doing such a thing. While it does tamp down the rebellion in the North for the moment, it does not give them any reason to love those here in King’s Landing or at the Twins. Even if the gods do nothing to punish the Freys, the Northern families will remember their betrayal. If anything, it gives them more fuel for a rebellion later on, once they have regrouped. The rift caused by Robb Stark’s actions will be easily mended now that everyone knows he was murdered by the Freys, turned into a martyr. His allies who turned against him will likely feel guilt for abandoning him, and want to avenge his death.” _

_ Tyrion agreed with the Spider. “I believe my father thinks that the North will bend to the rule of Sansa, which they probably will, but the question is will she bend to the rule of a Lannister?”_

_“You mean a Baratheon,” Varys said with a giggle._

_Tyrion gave him a rueful smile. “Yes, officially.”_

_“Officially, it makes all the difference,” Varys tittered, rising from his seat. “I’ll leave you now. I have some business to take care of elsewhere.”_

Now, Shae was sleeping peacefully. He would need to wake her soon. Sansa had awoken from her anguished induced sleep, and Sandor had given leave to Shae for the rest of the afternoon so that he could tend to his wife personally, but Tyrion still had his own duties. Finding a new member for the Kingsguard had been bumped down a few priority levels, though Cersei was adamant about another Kettleblack being added. Not for one second did he believe the story of Boros tripping on a loose stone and impaling himself on his own sword. Granted, Tyrion didn’t put it past the man, and was grateful that he was gone, but he was curious about how it had come about.

A great deal of his current stress had been dealt with already, thanks in part to Lady Olenna. She was a crafty one, and if Tyrion had been in a better frame of mind, would have enjoyed his verbal sparring with the tenacious lady. Knowing Shae would have more time for him again helped considerably, now that Sansa was out of her depression based hibernation, but he couldn’t keep Shae around constantly.

There was that problem as well. As much as he loved her, and wanted her to stay by his side, he knew that her life was in danger should his father or sister find out about her. Poor Roz had dealt with the Queen in Shae’s place last time. While she had said that she had had customers do worse to her, and had been well compensated afterwards, he did not want to put the girl through anything like that again. He rather liked Roz, and if not for Shae, would probably have become a regular of hers when he found out she had come to King’s Landing. 

How to handle the situation with Shae weighed heavily on his mind. Of the two options to keep her alive, he could either marry her off to some little lordling who needed a wife, or ship her off across the Narrow Sea. Both would keep her safe, but both would take her away from him.  _If only there was someway to get around Father, and just marry her myself_ . That thought brought him back to Joffrey’s wedding.

It had been postponed, in order to fulfill all of Cersei’s demands for it, and it would now coincide with the dawn of the new century. In contrast to the small affair that had been planned for Sansa, this one would make the heavens weep, but Tyrion wasn’t sure if that weeping would be with joy or sorrow. He sighed deeply, rousing his sleeping beauty. He felt her hand creep up his leg seductively, his cock already half-aroused by the time her fingers reached it.

“Oh my, you wish to take advantage of poor, innocent Shae yet again, milord?” she teased, stroking his length.

He chuckled and teased her back, “Oh? Poor, innocent Shae? What happened to ‘Shae, the funny whore’? I liked her.”

“Oh, do you now?” She smirked, “She is--” A knock at the door interrupted her. Tyrion threw back the sheet covering them. He motioned for her to hide as he hastily threw on his tunic and breeches. Straightening them as best he could, he walked to the door. Pod was there.

“Lord Tyrion, you have a visitor,” he said in a timid voice. “He says you would want to see him immediately.” Behind Pod, a tall, golden-haired figure stood.

“Little brother,” Jaime said hoarsely, “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”


	41. Sandor: Burn Away My Sorrow

Sandor was waiting for her when she got out of the bath, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had already told Shae that she could have the rest of the day off, once Sansa was done, and the foreign maid didn’t have to be told twice. Shae’s spirits had been lifted immensely when Sansa had awoken from her long depression stupor. 

He smiled at his wife when she entered the room, fresh faced and smelling of lilacs and lemons. Her demeanor was still subdued, but she did not look as empty anymore. It lightened his heart to see this progress, any progress really. He knew he needed a bath as well, reeking of whatever smells had wafted through the air of the marketplace, as well as the general stench of sweat from wearing armor on a hot day and training.

She returned his smile as best she could and reached for him, encircling his neck with her delicate arms as she pressed her body to his. Kissing her forehead, he said, “Forgive me little bird, I am in sore need of a bath. Rest a while, and I will be back.” She nodded and crept onto the bed to wait for him.

He did not squander his time, and was soon back with her, feeling refreshed and less like he was about to soil her. It was still early, so he had dressed in casual garb, but forwent the armor. She was sitting crossed-legged on the bed when he joined her.

She crawled into his lap and he held her, enjoying the fact that she found comfort in him. Sandor knew that now was not the time to react to his wife’s body, but his body wasn’t listening. His cock had a mind of its own and was delighted to be in her presence. To distract himself, he thought about his offer to her earlier. While he had been sincere in making it, he had also had doubts about it.  _Would she really be able to defend herself? She’s so tiny, so delicate, so frail_ . He wanted to believe that she had the same wolf spirit as her hellcat sister, but it was buried deep beneath the layers of courtesy. Slowly, she was embracing it, but would it be enough?

He heard the soft knock at the door. “Enter,” he called out.

The new maid opened the door slightly, “My lord, a parcel has arrived for Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you, Alys. I’ve been expecting it. Bring it here and then leave us for the remainder of the evening,” Sandor turned back to his wife as Alys went to fetch the package. He kissed her forehead and said, “Little bird, I have a present for you.”

Alys came back into the room, holding a very large package wrapped in brown paper and twine. She lay it on the bed before leaving the two of them alone. “Go on then, open it,” he urged. He was a bit nervous, wondering if she would like it.

She peeked up at him, but her curiosity got the better of her. Hopping of his lap, she approached the parcel, untied the twine and folded back the paper. Sandor felt a jolt of pride when her eyes went wide with amazement. “Sandor...this is…” She ran her hands over the folded cloths of black, yellow, grey and blue. A small box of various colors of threads and needles, plus an embroidery hoop, was next to them.

“I know how much you like to embroider, make dresses and whatever else ladies do. I thought you might like to have a project to work on. I have my training to help me, but you don’t, at least not yet, if you decide you want to do that. For now, you can use these to make whatever you’d like. I ordered this from the seamstress you visited with the other day, and today went back to ask for extra black cloth, in case you wanted to make mourning clothes. I can get more, should you need it.”

Sansa looked like she was about to start crying again. Sandor frowned, concerned over her emotional state. “Little bird?”

She hugged the grey cloth to her chest and reached for his hand. He gave it and she pulled him into a kiss. He could taste her tears. “Sansa, what’s wrong? You’re crying.”

“Nothing is wrong. This gift, it just moved me so much.” She pulled him into another kiss. “I’m just so grateful right now, that you are my husband and no one else.”

“Sansa…” he didn’t know what to say. She kissed him again, this time longer and more desperate. 

Sansa pushed him to sit on the bed, “Everyone thinks that you’re this big scary monster, but I know the truth.” He noticed her eyes glittering wildly. His concern grew. “Underneath it all isn’t a monster,” she whispered as she removed his freshly donned tunic. “It’s a loving, wonderful man. Like a lone rose inside the bramble bush. And this little bird was able to get past the thorny outside to see that wonderfulness inside.”

He snorted, “You ought to be a poet.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, unlacing his breeches. “For now, I just want to sing. Too much horror, not enough joy. You gave me love, when I was surrounded by hate.”

“Little bird…”

“Alright, tough love, but still love. Allow me some poetic embellishments? I just want to forget the sadness right now. Make love to me.”

He kissed her forehead. “Are you sure, Sansa? I mean, I am more than willing, but I don’t want you to push yourself further than you’re ready to go.”

She smiled her sad smile again, “I am sure. Please, Sandor, make me forget for a while. Let me remember what it is like to be surrounded by love.” She whispered, “You are the only one who can do that right now.”

He could not begrudge her that. Moving the bolts of cloth aside, he discarded the remainder of his clothing and hers.

This was different from their previous times. Before they had been driven by desire, playfulness, a need to claim and be claimed, and in a lighter atmosphere. Now, as he took her, he felt her emotional anguish, her need to feel their love burn through her sorrow and the loss of her family. Her cries of pleasure were of a deeper need than mere lust. She wanted to feel whole, to feel like she belonged somewhere. She needed him, he was her family, her place to belong, as she was his. The outside world disappeared into oblivion, as he made her come undone again and again, well into the night.


	42. Jaime: A Toast to Love

Jaime sat with Tyrion. He had been to see Cersei first, his father second, and now his little brother. Of the three, only Tyrion seemed genuinely happy to see him, and genuinely concerned about the loss of his hand.

“I’m sorry you had to send your ‘friend’ away,” he said.

“You mean Shae? No worries. She’ll be back later.” Tyrion looked rather pleased with himself.

“You’re in love with her?” Jaime asked, sipping the red wine he had been given.

“What? No, no, of course not.” But Tyrion couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Little brother…” Jaime said warningly. “It’s not good to lie. Downright bad for your soul.”

“Who says I’m lying?”

“I do. I always know when you’re lying. Just admit it,” Jaime smirked.

“I can’t be in love with her. She’s...well…” Tyrion fidgeted. Jaime could guess the rest.

“So what? Who cares? Love and be loved, that’s what I say.” Jaime raised his cup, “To love.”

Tyrion gave him a look, “You know very well who cares. Father threatened to kill the next whore he found with me. Even if I hated her, I wouldn’t want that to happen to her.”

“Ah, yes, well, good thing you’ve got your big brother back. Father is already setting his sights on me,” Jaime said with chagrin.

“Oh?” he asked a little too quickly. Jaime knew Tyrion was hoping to get him on a tangent. 

“Yes. Wants me to quit the Kingsguard. Not bloody likely, but he keeps talking about the precedents that have been set, and how I can’t possibly serve with only one hand, that I’d be better running the Rock. Running it into the ground, I’d think. You should be given that seat. You’d be much better at it, maybe even better than Father.” He drank deeply and set the cup down with a loud thunk. “I refused him, of course. Fairly certain he disowned me.”

“Only fairly certain?” Tyrion asked as he refilled both of their cups.

“Well, you know how he is. Never actually said it, but the message was clear enough. I got a new sword out of it though. Pity it’s wasted on the likes of me, what with the lack of a right hand and all.” He raised his stump for emphasis.

“Too bad you only had the one hand to begin with. Oh, wait, you have a second one!” Tyrion said in mock surprise, then changed to a more serious tone. “You can learn. If anyone can master this situation, it’s you.”

Jaime was touched by the faith his brother had in him. It made up for the lack of faith from his sister and father. “The trouble with that is learning without it getting out. Do you know what could happen if people find out that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard couldn’t fight?”

“What about that woman who brought you back? Isn’t she an excellent swordswoman? Couldn’t she help you? She already knows, and if she hasn’t told anyone yet, she’s not likely to.” Tyrion asked.

“Yes...well, Brienne...is otherwise occupied at the time,” Jaime said guiltily. He could only hope Loras would go talk to her sooner rather than later. “Hopefully not for long, but I wouldn’t count on her for this, and not until she settles some things.”

Tyrion gave him a questioning look, but instead said, “Well, as it happens, I know two men who can help you. Neither will spill your secrets, though one will cost you a bit more for his silence.”

Jaime leaned forward, intrigued. “And who might they be?”

“Ser Ilyn Payne and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, as he’s taken to calling himself. Bit dramatic for my tastes, but he likes it.”

“Hmm...I had considered Ser Ilyn, he’s a good soldier, and would definitely be able to keep my secret. But Ser Bronn? I’ve never heard of him.”

“He's only recently knighted. He’s an excellent fighter, a bit mouthy, bit of a flirt too, though he only means it with women. For the right price, he’ll do just about anything.” Tyrion looked thoughtful. “He’s saved my life on more than one occasion. He’s a good friend too. Before the Battle of Blackwater, he was a mere, but talented sellsword. He fights dirty, mind you, and since you’ll be at the disadvantage using your left, I would recommend him teaching you. You want to get good fast, his style would help.”

Jaime considered his brother’s words. “Will he really do anything for the right price?”

“As far as I know, he has yet to turn down one of my offers.”

He thought a bit more, “What if I asked him to walk down to Flea Bottom in nothing except a maiden’s gown?”

Tyrion chuckled, “I’ve never asked, but I honestly wouldn’t put that past him. He might even enjoy it, what with his perverse sense of humor.”

Jaime sipped his wine, contemplating how to overcome the obstacle he had set himself.  _Learning a sword all over again. I must be out of my mind. I suppose I should ask Brienne first, Tyrion has a point about her. I’ll have to see if Loras is ready to give up on his campaign against her yet_ . He ignore the feeling of joy he felt at the thought of Brienne sparring with him.

“Oh!” Tyrion exclaimed, interrupting Jaime’s thoughts. “Speaking of precedents, I just remembered, there’s one more person to consider. Lord Clegane.”

“Gregor?! Have you lost your mind?” Jaime asked in disgust.

“What? Oh, no, sorry, I keep forgetting you aren’t up to date on the news here. No, not Gregor, I meant Sandor Clegane.”

“He’s a lord now?” Jaime asked in surprise.

“Of a small estate, but yes. He married Sansa Stark.”

Jaime sat there in shock for a few moments, and then “ _What?!_ ” He couldn’t believe Tyrion could be so calm saying something like that. “How?”

“You really are behind on the news, aren’t you? Let me start at the beginning. After Father sent me in his place to be the Hand…” 

Jaime listened with a mix of interested and horror as Tyrion explained it all.  _How am I supposed to deliver Sansa back to what’s left of her family if she’s become a Clegane?_

“And now that Lady Catelyn and Robb are dead--”

Jaime looked up at that, “Now that I had heard about, but not from anyone here at the castle.”

“What the devil did Father and Cersei talk to you about when you went to see them? Lady Sansa has been inconsolable, though the Hound has been quite good for her. I suspect she’ll be up to seeing visitors by tomorrow..”

 

“So she’s really in love with him? And he with her?”

“As unbelievable as it seems, yes. Though it’s not common knowledge. Granted, he’s still an ass, but with her... Anyway, most people assume he has to use force with her, but once you see them together, it’s fairly obvious.”

“Brienne’s not going to like that,” Jaime muttered, but Tyrion’s ears were too sharp.

“Brienne? What does she have to do with it?”

“She has a lot to do with it, actually. Long story short, she swore herself to Lady Stark to deliver me in exchange for the Stark girls. Oh, and before you say anything to her, she hates being called Brienne the Beauty.” Jaime looked down at his stump. “It’s not her fault she was born the way she was.”

Tyrion smiled. “I’m the last person who would judge her like that, but I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

Changing the subject, Jaime asked, “And your friend, Shae, was it?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes, “Not this again.”

Jaime chuckled. “You’re keeping her around, despite what Father told you, so yes, this again. If you don’t love her, you should let her go.” 

Tyrion looked miserable. “I know, you’re right, but...I can’t.”

Jaime smirked, “Because you love her.”

Tyrion scowled, “Alright, fine. You win. But I can’t let her stay here either. Father will kill her.”

“So you’re in between a rock and a hard place.” Jaime looked at him thoughtfully.

“I’ve considered marrying her off to a hedge knight,” Tyrion said and sighed. “Or sending her to the Free Cities with enough money to set up a residence there. Neither really appeal to me, however.”

“You could marry her.” 

“And give Father reason to take both our heads?” Tyrion scoffed. “As much as I like the idea, I like being alive even more.”

“Fair enough. Let me think on it, see if I can come up with an alternate solution,” Jaime grinned. 


	43. Sansa: Honorable

Sandor came back to their chambers that morning with an excited look in his eyes. His week off from duties had officially ended during her “catatonic depression”, as she had started referring to it, and Lord Tywin had decided to name him Master of Arms, after hearing about Sandor’s work with the trainees. While she was disappointed that their trip to Wolf’s Guard was postponed for the time being, she was happy that Sandor was enjoying his new position. His excitement and glee were soon revealed.

While cleaning out and sorting the general armory, he had found a small dagger that was perfect for Sansa’s stature. He wrapped one of her ribbons around the sheath and handle, securing them together so that she could practice without hurting herself. He then spent two hours going over how to use and handle a weapon. He spent another hour showing her some basic techniques. She had finally had to shoo him away to get to his afternoon training session. 

Shae was most amused by that, and had offered to show Sansa a few tricks as well. “You know how to fight with a dagger?” Sansa asked incredulously. Shae merely shrugged.

“It is a dangerous world out there. Even more so for pretty women, like ourselves.” She bared her leg, showing Sansa the dagger strapped to it. “I keep it near at all times, m’lady.”

If Sandor was the more persistent teacher, then Shae was definitely the more demanding one. Sansa wanted to ask where in the world the foreign handmaiden had learned such ferocious fighting, but was too busy trying to follow her instructions. 

After a grueling session, she turned to her embroidery to relax. The dress she was making to wear to the king’s wedding was coming along nicely, but her embroidery was where she found her peace. She had fallen out of practice since her status change from honored guest to political prisoner, and she was nervous that she wouldn’t be able to achieve the same level of quality she had previously done. She was happy to find that her fingers were still nimble and her first few practice pieces came out very well. She felt ready to move on to something more complex, but had not decided what yet.

Her husband’s return at the end of the day included meeting two new additions to their household. “Sansa, I’d like to introduce you to Saul,” he patted the older boy’s shoulder, “and Gar.” The little one received a pat on the head.

Sansa smiled and curtsied to them, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Saul and Gar.” 

“Until I can find a proper knight to take them off my hands, these two will be following me and learning the duties of squire and page. Now, remember what I told you, and go introduce yourselves to the others.” He watched them scurry off.

Sansa grinned at him. He gave her a look, “What? It’s just temporary. They’re good kids. I just want to make sure they get the right knight to handle their training.”

“Of course, my lord,” Sansa said coquettishly. He swatted her behind playfully in return.

“Cheeky little bird. Don’t think I’m the only one who’s in charge of them. You’ll get an hour with them each day as well. Well, Gar will be around you more than Saul, but at least an hour for both of them.”

She frowned, “But what could I possibly do for them?”

He place a hand on each of her shoulders, “Teach them courtesies, of course. I can teach them all about weapons and battle, but how to act in court, I’ve come to realize that that’s important too. Not for me, of course, I couldn’t care less, but they’re young. Maybe if you teach them, they’ll grow up to be honorable, like your father.”

She gave him a look, “You have honor too, you know. Father would have liked you, once he got to know you.” 

“If you say so, little bird.”


	44. Brienne: Blue

The hurt she had felt when Jaime had ordered her locked up had abated by the time Loras left her and Jaime alone.  _He believes me, he believes I did not kill Renly!_ she thought, almost not believing it had happened. 

Now she stood in Jaime’s quarters, the silence was deafening. He was in his Kingsguard armor, white and gleaming. She stole a look at him. His hair was significantly shorter now. If she had thought he was devilishly good looking before, then he was devastating handsome now. He was writing out something. Patiently she waited, studying him. Being with him out on the road was different than being with him here in the capital. Out there, he was cocky, annoying and a little wild. Here though, here he was steadfast, dependable and sure of himself.  _I dreamt of you_ . Sometimes, his words would come back to her, without any particular reminder or reason. It warmed her heart to think of it, bringing a small smile to her lips every time, even if he didn't feel anything more than gratitude towards her. She colored slightly when he turned to look at her, afraid he would guess what she was thinking about.

“You will be pleased to know that Sansa Stark is still in King’s Landing, though Arya is missing. Ignore any whispers you hear of her leaving with Bolton’s men. That’s another girl my father is masquerading as her. I’ve secured some lodging for you, though it is in the lesser wing, where we put the people the Queen Regent wishes to go away. We’re a bit tight on space because of the wedding, so I was lucky to find it.”

“I’m sure it will be more than sufficient, Ser Jaime.”

“Considering we've seen each other naked," he said with a cocky grin, "I think at this point, you can just call me Jaime. I’ll have someone show you to your room so you can freshen up. I also managed to find some clothing that will fit you. After that, you and I will go see Lady Sansa, how does that sound?”

She blinked at him, a little surprised. “That sounds wonderful, Ser Jaime.”

He cocked a golden brow at her. “What did I just say?”

She looked away stubbornly and refused to answer. He sighed. “Very well. Off with you, wench. Meet me here once you’re done and we will visit the Lady Clegane.”

She looked at him, startled, “Lady Clegane?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Lady Sansa is married to the Hound. Head over heels in love, too.”


	45. Sansa: Honor as Bright as Sapphires

The knock at the door startled her from her sewing. From the open door to the bedchamber, she could see Alys, the handmaiden she now suspected to be a spy for Cersei, answer it. Ser Jaime Lannister and a big, blonde, masculine woman, dressed in a doublet and thick skirt that was short enough to reveal well worn boots, entered as Sansa set aside her project. She sighed inwardly, at yet another interruption. 

She had received Margaery and Loras earlier, and while she had appreciated their sentiments, she had felt irritated that she had been pulled away from her sewing. Between giving lessons to the two new additions to their household, basic training with Sandor, practicing with Shae, she barely had time to devote to the new clothing she was making.  _And to focusing on The Tragedy_ , she thought, but that was something she could be grateful for. Her dark moments still visited her, when she had to stand aside and feel the pain wash over her, but it was easier to get through them now.  _Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, and Rickon...one day, I will be able to think of them without the Stranger’s cold embrace on my heart_ .

She took one last look at her dress before closing the door to the bedchamber and turning to greet the visitors. The seamstress had returned with several more than serviceable gowns, but Sansa felt better devoting her own efforts to at least the one she would wear to her first formal function as Sandor’s wife. Her pride as her mother’s daughter wouldn’t let her accept another’s work for such an event.

_I’ll never get the dress done in time at this rate_ , she thought gloomily to herself as she gave them a congenial smile. “Ser Jaime, I had heard you had returned to King’s Landing. It is good to see that you are well.”

“Alas, if only I had returned in one complete piece,” he raised his right arm, showing off his new golden hand. 

Sansa gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “What-- Did my mother--?”

Jaime chuckled, “While I’m sure she was tempted, the honor goes to the most recent former Lord of Harrenhal. Never fear, Lady Sansa, your mother was the perfect hostess, or at least as perfect as could be expected under the circumstances.”

Sansa swallowed nervously, “What brings you to my door, Ser Jaime?”

He looked over at the maid still standing by the door. Sansa took the hint. “Alys, stop standing there like a post and go fetch some refreshments for our guests. Send Shae out as well.”

The girl blushed deep red and ran off with a hurried, “Yes, m’lady.”

Sansa offered them a seat. “You were saying?”

“Actually, I hadn’t yet, but before I forget my manners, let me introduce you to Lady Brienne of Tarth. We have business with you, my lady.”

Sansa frowned, “Oh? What business would that be?”

Alys came back in carrying wine, with Shae following behind her carrying goblets. Sansa saw a look pass between Shae and Jaime, but did not comment on it. 

“Alys, please go find my lord husband, let him know we have guests. He should be finishing with the morning training by the time you get there.”

“Oh, but my lady, won’t you need me here?” the girl asked.

Sansa looked at her thoughtfully. “No, I do not think so. Shae is more than capable of handling our guests. Now, please, go fetch my husband.”

The girl looked like she was going to argue more, but thought better of it and left. Sansa felt her suspicions confirmed just a little bit more. She would need to speak to Sandor about that one.

“Please continue, Ser Jaime.”

“As you may have known, I was a,” he coughed, “ _guest_ of your mother and brother for a while.”

Sansa remembered the day she had been brought before the court and stripped. It had been mentioned as part of the crimes she was paying for. “I was aware of it.”

“In return for safely delivering me to King’s Landing, your mother asked that you and Arya be given to Brienne and she would take you from this place.”

Sansa went still.  _Is this a trick? Surely Cersei and Joffrey would have better things to do than test me with Ser Jaime? Wouldn’t they?_

Jaime continued on, “Though we now know that Arya hasn’t been here in a while. However, we also realize that circumstances have changed. You have my condolences for your mother and brother. Even as their captive, I have to say they were both admirable people. And your father, well, I regret that I did not get the chance to truly go head to head with him, but maybe in the next life.”

“I, as well, am so sorry for your loss. Lady Catelyn was a good woman and I was honored to serve her,” the masculine woman said.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne. I appreciate your sentiments,” Sansa murmured. She kept her eyes down, afraid of what they would say next.

“That being said, what would you like from us?” Jaime asked. 

Sansa looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Since your lady mother has passed to the next world, we are transferring our pledge to you. What would you have us do? Deliver you from King’s Landing? Protect you here? Your wish is our command. Within reason, of course.” He smiled brightly at her.

“I have no reason to leave,” she said. “My husband is here, and of course we are loyal to King Joffr--”

“Spare me the lies, Lady Sansa,” Jaime drolled. “I know what he’s put you through. If I had been here, you would not have had to suffer through any of that and for that I apologize. I know my brother tried to help where he could, but he does not hold as much power with my sister or nephew as I do. You have no reason to be loyal to so petulant a king. I come to you by the will of your mother and her alone. None of this will get back to the Queen, at least not through us.” He smiled again, but this time it was kinder. “I swear to you, I will not let any harm come to you.”

Sansa returned the smile weakly. “I must speak with my lord husband first, of course--”

Brienne knelt in front of her suddenly. “My lady, tell me thusly, is he holding you against your will? Say the word  and I will dispatch him at once.”

“Brienne, really…” muttered Jaime, shaking his head. “For all the gods sakes, learn how to read people. The only truthful words she’s said so far are ‘my husband’. Even _you_ can hear the devotion she holds in those two little words.”

Brienne scowled at him, making Sansa laugh. Brienne turned back to her, surprised. The tension Sansa had been feeling had lifted considerably.

“Lady Brienne, I thank you for your offer, but there is no need. I truly do love my husband.” She smiled warmly at the kneeling woman. 

“But how can you? He is…”

“Rough? Cruel? A brute? A monster?” Sansa interjected wryly, “It’s true, I suppose, except when he is with me. I trust him with my life and my heart. He would never hurt me. I only ask that you at least give him the chance to prove it to you as well.”

“As you say, my lady,” Brienne said and took her seat again. Sansa studied her for a moment. She was not a beautiful woman by any means, quite plain in fact, but there was something about her. Her bright blue eyes, like two sapphires, looked back at Sansa. 

_She has honor, and she shines with it_ , Sansa thought. Outloud, “For the time being, please Lady Brienne, tell me how you knew my mother.”


	46. Jaime: So, Lunch? Anyone?

He saw a full range of emotions on her ugly face as she told Sansa her tale. By the time she got to the part where Lady Stark had given him over to her care, the door opened to admit that forward maid, the Hound, and two young boys. The man was as surly looking as ever, giving Jaime pause on whether or not the Lady Sansa could possibly love such a man, despite Tyrion’s assurances.

It was amusing to see Brienne’s reaction to him though. Her face went from calm admiration to angry protective. She shot out of her seat, ready to battle, but all it took was a gentle hand to her wrist. Brienne looked at Jaime, as much surprise on her face as he felt for his action. He pulled her back to her seat and rose to greet the younger Clegane brother.

“Sandor! Good to see you. Heard the good news, so I, I mean, we, wanted to come congratulate you. Oh, there I go forgetting my manners. Sandor Clegane, allow me to introduce you to--”

“Brienne, the Maid of Tarth,” Sandor interrupted. “I’ve heard of you. Supposedly killed Renly.”

Jaime wasn’t facing her, but he could feel the anger bristling. “Now, now, Clegane, she’s as much a kingslayer as you are. I trust her, Lady Catelyn Stark trusted her, and now I believe your lady wife is well on her way to trusting her.” He looked over at Sansa, who merely gave him a small smile. “Well, I’m sure she will come to trust her eventually. Brienne may have some rough edges,” he heard her snort at that, “but she’s an honorable person, and one who owes a--”

“Alys,” Sansa interrupted. The girl had been standing in the background and look startled to have been noticed.

“Yes, m’lady?”

“Go down to the kitchens and fetch some lunch, enough for everyone. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne will be joining us today. Take Saul and Gar with you as well.”

The girl looked put out, but curtsied and left with the two boys. Jaime thought he heard the other maid muffle a laugh.  _Tyrion’s lady love, seems Sansa trusts her with this conversation but not the other one. Interesting_ . 

Sandor frowned and looked back at Brienne. Jaime turned to look at her. She had stood up again and was standing at her full height, nearly as tall as the Hound himself. Her clothing had been scrounged up from what he could find at the laundry, mostly men's clothing, but oddly enough, it suited her perfectly despite not fitting quite right.  _Much better than that pink abomination_ , he thought to himself.  _The darker colors suit her fair skin_ . An image of her in the dark red and yellow gold of House Lannister flashed in his mind, but he mentally swatted it away.  _Cersei would have a fit if I did that_ .

“Owes what now?” the Hound finally asked, frowning.

“It seems she, and Ser Jaime, made a vow to my mother, in exchange for bringing Ser Jaime back to his family, she was to take Arya and myself back to our family. But now…” she trailed off, looking forlorn for a moment, “but now that Mother is...well, now Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne would like to fulfill their vows and have asked me what I would like to do. I have already stated that I need to confer with you first.” He looked at Brienne and then over to Jaime, his frown still firmly in place, sizing them up.

“What does the Queen make of your vow?” he asked.

Jaime grinned and folded his arms over his chest, “She said to forget it, since Lady Stark is dead. Probably would have, but this one,” he nodded over to Brienne, “wouldn’t have liked it. And she can be such a nag about honor and holy vows. I’m really just saving myself a headache.” He had a feeling Brienne was making a face at him, and felt a smug satisfaction when he heard Sansa giggle. “So, how about this? We will stay to have lunch, you can ask us whatever you like, you can get to know Brienne a bit better, Lady Sansa can get to know me a bit better, and then give us your decision on the morrow. Though I must confide, Brienne is likely to just keep nagging you until you let her help with something. Give her a quest and I’m sure she’ll be right as rain. Make it about avenging Renly, and doubly so.”

He earned a punch to his back from Brienne for that last part, but he was too amused by her to care.


	47. Tyrion: Promise Made

Setting aside his quill, Tyrion rubbed his eyes. The strain of managing the finances was catching up to him and he desperately needed a break. _No wonder Littlefinger was so beady eyed_ , he thought. _It was from staring at the figures for too long._

“How goes the mastering of the coin?” a voice called out from behind him.

He was too tired to be startled. “Varys, you’re just in time. I need a good distraction. What brings you to my chambers?”

The eunuch giggled and rounded the desk to sit in one of the chairs. “Have you gotten used to my surprise visits already, my lord?”

“Too worn out to feel anything else, I’m afraid. I’m sure you’ll get me next time, though.” Tyrion gave the man a heartfelt smile. “What can I do for you?”

Varys leaned forward, “I have been watching a certain lord and lady very closely.”

Tyrion made a gesture for him to continue, curious to what Varys was getting at.

“I have wondered where this black lord and his yellow lady fit into the game, and I think I now know how. I need to see how certain events unfold, but when the times comes, I will need your help. Will you give it?” Varys asked.

“If I am able to, certainly.”


	48. Sandor: Down a Dark Hallway

The ugly wench refused to speak to Jaime after his remark. Sandor found it intriguing. To Sansa, the wench was completely open and honest and even shining in an odd sort of way.  _She’s the type who becomes completely devoted to the liege lord_ , he thought,  _or liege lady_ . He wanted to ask more about Renly, but that accursed maid was back. The fact that Sansa had dismissed her from the room had not escaped his notice. It had not escape Jaime’s notice either, Sandor noted. He kept the conversation light, and kept Brienne from speaking too freely. The dynamic between the two was interesting, to say the least. Sansa was curious about it as well, he could tell by the way she kept looking back and forth between the two, but didn’t ask any direct questions about it.

He also noticed that Brienne’s eyes kept darting between Sansa and himself. He didn’t particularly care what she or anyone else thought, but he knew why Sansa cared.  _Her fear is to be taken away from you by some "well meaning" idiot, buggering fool, same as yours. You would do well to not let that happen_. 

By the time the pair left, Sandor had come to the conclusion that if Brienne became a part of their household, it wouldn’t be the greatest tragedy. She was the opposite of him, yet also the same. She was noble, honorable, forthright, and a decent fighter, if Jaime was to be believed. He would feel better if he could spar against her to test her skills with a blade, but that could wait. The king’s wedding would take top priority. As the master-of-arms and a titled lord currently in residence at the castle, Sandor was invited to the wedding along with his wife and two servants. 

Sansa kissed him on his cheek and whispered, “Please forgive, my love, I must get back to work on my dress. Otherwise…” she looked longingly towards their bedchamber. He chuckled.

“No apologies necessary, wife. Just remember to make it up to me later.” He pulled her close for one more embrace, kissing her deeply. “It would be most  _dutiful_ of you,” he grinned. She blushed and nodded happily.

In a low voice he said, “Oh, before you go, what was that earlier, with…” he gestured discreetly towards Alys. Alys didn’t seem to notice as she left the room carrying the used dishes.

Sansa waited until she was sure the girl was out of the room, but kept her voice low as well, “Oh, just a hunch. If the wedding wasn’t tomorrow, I would have dismissed her already. She listens too closely to everything. It might be she’s just trying to figure out how to be good at her job, but…” She let the sentence hang in the air. 

“Aye, leave it to me, you get back to your work. I’ll see what I can find out about her.”

“Get Shae to help you. She shares my suspicions and has been following her. She might have seen something you’d find useful.” She kissed him once more before returning to her sewing.

**********

“She often comes to this area, m’lord,” Shae said, indicating the hallway. “But I cannot follow any further after this point, not until she gets to the other end and by then, she is long gone. I haven’t been able to investigate past here. I do not want her finding me.”

“Thank you, Shae. You’ve done well. Get back to Sansa, see if you can help her finish the dress. Get Alys to help as well, keep her occupied,” he patted the maid on the back. 

“I only did what I had to do, m’lord,” Shae bowed and left. Sandor considered her for a moment.  _Her loyalty needs to be rewarded somehow. A night off, perhaps? At least for starters, though we give her plenty of those. “Lending” her to the Imp’s household for an evening or two? Possibly_ . He turned his attention back to the hallway. No one was around. He walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing. It wasn’t unusual for an area of the castle to be so deserted, and his warrior’s instinct wasn’t being set off, but he felt on edge anyway.

He turned a corner and saw what Shae had been talking about. There was an intersection that could lead to two other places. He went with the closest one first. Another long hallway, leading to the servants quarters of visiting dignitaries and then out to the courtyards near the breeding stables. He backtracked to the intersection and took the second route. This one lead him past more servants quarters, higher up on the hierarchy than the previous ones, and straight into one of the indoor gardens, which in turn had another exit to a high traffic area. He could see people, servants and nobles alike, walking along. Confused, Sandor sat down on a nearby bench and went over both paths in his mind. Neither one went to any particular place. The gardens opened up to more hallways, better populated hallways, and would be a shorter route from his chambers to this garden.

 

But at the same time, if Alys was going to the stables, she would be more noticeable. Only grooms and stable hands spend time at that stable and in that area. Her only destination could be this garden, or possibly to visit another servant in either of the two quarters . That would pose a bigger problem. Hundreds of servants lived in those two sections alone, and narrowing it down would take a lot more skill at intrigue than Sandor was capable of.

_Ugh, I’ll have to ask the Imp for help if I can’t figure this out_ . He dreaded the thought, even though Tyrion had promised to help.  _I should probably tell him of this either way. Maybe Shae would have better luck than me in this part. Next time Alys wanders off, I can send Shae and Gar after her. If Alys is meeting someone, she’s taking the long way to get there. Sending Shae one way and Gar the other, they’re sure to discover her_ .

  
Satisfied with his plan, he left the garden and returned to his wife.


	49. Tyrion: Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

Varys had just left his quarters after telling him the whisper he had heard.  _Father knows about Shae_ .

It was too late to marry her off. His only choice left was to ship her to one of the free cities. He looked out his window, mournful that their time together was at an end. The sun was not even up yet. The wedding breakfast wouldn’t take place for several hours, giving him enough time to hopefully find a ship for Shae to be on.

“Pod!” he called out.

Several moments later, a sleepy-eyed Podrick appeared. His hastily dressed appearance was not as bad as Tyrion had expected. “Yes, m’lord?”

Tyrion had just finished scribbling on a paper. “Tuck your shirt in, Pod. And take this to Lord Clegane at once. Make sure no one else sees it, not even Lady Sansa and especially not Shae. Then find Bronn and send him to me. After that, go down to the harbor,” he handed the boy a bag of coins, “Find a ship that is sailing for one of the Free Cities. It doesn’t matter which one, I just need one that is leaving as soon as possible and can take on two extra passengers. The initial cost should be covered by what’s in the bag, and I will double it for their discretion. Come back once you do all this, or if you have difficulty completing any of it.”

“Yes, m’lord. Deliver note to Clegane only, find Bronn, find first ship sailing out with passage for two people. Come back.” Pod said as he straightened his clothing.

“Good lad, now, off you go.”

**********

Podrick had not been gone a half-hour when the knock sounded at his door. Tyrion set aside the book he had been trying to distract himself with and answered.

The Hound entered without a word. Tyrion motioned for him to sit as he closed the door.

“What is it, Imp?” the giant man asked, though there was no aggression in it. “I had to leave my warm bed and warmer wife for this.”

“I apologize, I would not have asked you here if I did not believe it to be dire. First, I ask that you keep this to yourself, not even Sansa can know of this.” He breathed deeply before continuing. “My father has found out about Shae,” he said, walking over to his desk. “I have sent Pod to find her passage on the next available ship. Once he does, she will need to leave quickly. I know that Sansa is fond of Shae and vice versa, but I cannot allow Shae to be in danger. I can find another to replace her in your employ, if you wish.”

“Is that all you need of me? To dismiss her services?”

Tyrion’s mouth set into a straight line. “I also need to ask that you or someone in your household protect her until I can spirit her away. I will not let my Father repeat history.”

The Hound looked at Tyrion thoughtfully for several moments. It was making Tyrion nervous, until the other man broke the silence, “This is about that girl you married all those years ago, isn’t it?”

Tyrion was surprised, “You know about her? About my Tysha?”

“Aye. Though I didn’t know her name. Cersei spoke of her once, when I was her shield. It was the day after she married Robert, and was ranting on and on about how unfair it all was, and how at least you had a day or so of happy married life before the bubble was shattered. Something happened between them in the bedding that angered her for a full sennight, though I couldn’t tell you what.” He shrugged.

“I see. Well, yes, this is about her and what happened to her. Though she was not what I believed her to be, the time we spent together is something I cherished. I do not wish a similar or worse fate to happen to Shae, which my father has promised.” Tyrion sighed heavily. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe,” Sandor promised. “Before I go, there is one more thing. I was going to tell you later, but since I’m here. Do you know of the other handmaiden, Alys?”


	50. Sansa: Lessons On The Run

Her dream woke her as the morning light filtered in through the window. Another one that faded too quickly for her to remember, but left a bad feeling behind. Sansa shook her head, trying to clear it. Sandor was still asleep. He had left their bed in the wee hours of the morning after a persistent knocking at their door. He had not told her what it was about, and gone straight back to sleep when he returned, giving her a sweet kiss and murmuring that he would tell her about it once the nonsense was done with.

She sat there, thinking, in the waning dark of the early morning. She was tempted to go to the desk and write some more lesson ideas for Saul and Gar, but she currently had more than enough to teach them for at least a month before adding in more. The boys were eager to learn and she had enjoyed being around them and educating them about proper court etiquette. Brienne, the third new addition to their household and now Sansa’s sworn shield when her husband was out, helped with them too, but she taught them on a similar level as Sandor. Her thoughts turned back to her husband. She suspected that Sandor had given her this task as another way to help cope with the loss of her mother and brother, with that “realization” as an excuse. 

_Or maybe he did realize it, at least partially, since he’s not going to trouble himself with learning as well. Though the court might all die of shock if the infamous Hound suddenly started being courteous_ , she thought as she smiled to herself. Whatever his reason, she was glad for it. Today, however, would be exhausting, for today was the King’s wedding. Since Sandor was no longer a “Lannister man”, neither he nor Sansa were required to attend the breakfast being held that morning. However, Lord Tyrion had invited them anyway, saying he could use some friendly faces. That had amused Sansa, and Sandor had laughed heartily when he heard that.

She kissed Sandor, who stayed sound asleep, and made her way to the bath. Shae had shown Gar some of her duties, which he would be taking over for Sandor. While she hadn’t objected to waiting on her lady’s husband, Shae had been grateful that someone else would be doing it now. She had taken an instant liking to the little boy and had insisted on showing him around. Now, as she shooed the boy from the bathing area, Sansa smiled as she heard her whisper conspiratorially, “Go sneak some pastries from the kitchen, enough for all of us!”

Sandor was still asleep when she returned after her bath. Alys was preparing Sansa’s clothing for the day in the dressing room. Thanks to the two maids, she had managed to finish her dress for the wedding in time, an elegant and simple gown of a luscious yellow accented with black, her new family colors. In addition to that, she had also been able to alter the clothing Brienne had picked to fit her better. She did not object to Brienne’s choice of clothing, but she did object to it being ill-fitting. It had been a lot easier and faster to alter those clothes than make all new ones, but Sansa had already sketched a few ideas for new outfits. The seamstress had been kind in adding in a blank book where Sansa could write notes and sketches for what she planned on making next.

She sat at the vanity nearby, trying to decide how to have Shae do her hair for the breakfast. Her eyes glided over the various hair accessories and stopped on the silver net Dontos had given her. She picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. It really was a beautiful piece. If she had been made a Lannister, the deep purple gems would have fit it in well with their colors. However, as a Clegane, it didn’t go so well with the yellow and black. 

_I should really return this to Dontos, shouldn’t I?_ she thought, since she refused to be taken away.  _Would he understand though? I supposed I could just leave it in the godswood. He, Sandor and I are the only ones that go there, and Sandor wouldn’t pick it up._

“And how would my lady like her hair?” Shae asked softly, interrupting her thoughts.

“A Northern style today, please, Shae.” She placed the hair net back on the vanity.

“You’ve been favoring that a lot lately,” Shae said as she began to brush Sansa’s hair. 

“Home has been on my mind,” Sansa replied with a small smile. 

“Would you like to use that hair net as well?”

Sansa looked down at it, “No, it is not mine. I was thinking of returning it to its owner actually. Perhaps this morning, though I would like to go pray in the godswood first.”

“That’s too bad. It’s very lovely,” Shae murmured.

“M’lady?” the other maid called out.

“Yes, Alys?”

“Your dress is ready. Shall I help Shae with your hair?”

“No, that’s quite alright. Why don’t you go get some breakfast for yourself and the boys? Something other than pastries.” Sansa could see Shae grinning in the mirror.

“At once, m’lady.” The younger girl shut the door behind her.

“Shae?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“If I ever return to the North, would you like to come with me?” Sansa felt the brush go still.

“I would like that very much, but…”

Sansa sighed, but the smile remained. “Lord Tyrion?” she asked. She could see Shae’s eyes widen in the mirror and the handmaiden frantically started brushing her hair again.

Sansa chuckled. “There’s worse people I could lose you too, I suppose.”

Shae said nothing, but couldn’t stop smiling.

**********

“My lady, are you sure you do not wish to wait?” Shae asked nervously. Sandor had finally risen from bed, but wasn’t quite ready to go.

“It will be fine, I promise. I do not plan to stay long and I will be right back. Saul will be accompanying me, as well as Brienne, won’t you?” The boy nodded, pleased to be of service, as the tall woman stood near the door, ready to leave. “So please, do not worry so much. And if my lord husband is worried, he knows my route to the godswood well enough to follow me.”

She kissed Shae on the cheek and set off with Saul at her side and Brienne following closely behind. She had hidden the hairnet in her sleeve. Her pace was brisk and the day was pleasant. She was telling Saul of the proper way to greet anyone from an apprentice to the king, and having him repeat after her. 

The hall they were walking along was long with few intersections, but the first one she passed brought her colliding with Lady Olenna. Saul prevented Sansa from falling, as Right and Left prevented the Queen of Thorns.

“Oh, my! Dear child! You startled me. Wherever could you be going at such an ungodly hour?” the old woman asked once she was righted. She grasped Sansa’s hand, “You are not hurt, are you? Oh, Lady Brienne! You’re here too. How nice to see you.”

“Forgive me, Lady Olenna. I did not see you there. I am on my way to the godswood, and no, I am not hurt,” Sansa answered.

“Oh? Do you always go on important days?” the woman asked, tilting her head slightly.

“While I have not been in a while, I go when it is important to pray, and I wish to pray for Lady Margaery’s happiness.”

“What a devout child, my dear Willas has missed out on that. And do you pray for Joffrey’s happiness as well?”

Sansa gave her a tight smile, “The king is in my prayers, of course.”

The old woman smiled back. A shiver ran up Sansa’s spine, but she could not explain why. Lady Olenna gave her a kind nod and toddled off with Left and Right in her wake. Sansa watched her for a few moments, until Brienne spoke up, “My lady? Lord Sandor will be expecting you back soon.”

“Yes, let us continue. Now Saul, when you are a knight, and something like that happens, you should…” she continued his lesson as they walked along.


	51. Arya: Through Your Eye, Out the Back of Your Skull

Arya watched her sister from a shadowy corner. She had raced back to King's Landing in record time. Getting back into the Red Keep had proven a lot easier than getting out. The chaos caused by the wedding certainly helped.  _Always in time for the wedding_ , she thought ruefully.

She had bathed enough to scrub off the dirt and combed her hair. A stolen copper had bought her a neater haircut than the one she had left with, and helped her blend in with the help. She had borrowed some clean clothes from the laundress, and had been following one person after another, trying to find Sansa. The old woman with the towering guards had been the one who finally led her to the one she sought, after she had spoken with a young maid who mentioned Sansa’s name. 

She had watched as the old woman aimed her frail body to collide with Sansa. She had watched as the old woman clasped her sister’s hand in hers. She had watched as the old woman pocketed a dark purple stone.  _Stealing a gem? But from where? Sansa isn’t wearing any jewelry._ A glint of silver sparkled from the cuff of Sansa’s sleeve.  _Hidden? How odd_ , the younger Stark thought.

She followed her sister and the young boy to the godswood, while the big, blond soldier stayed a little farther off to guard the area. Arya remembered she had been shown where it was when they had first arrived, but hadn’t been back since. She could hear her sister, “Saul, I’ll only be a few minutes. Wait here. Let me know if anyone comes down the path.” The boy nodded eagerly and stood watch. Arya rolled her eyes. 

_This will be easy_ , she thought.  _Quick as a snake, quiet as a shadow_ . She threw a small pebble over the boy’s head. He turned towards the noise and like a flash, she was past him. She entered the godswood and saw her sister standing back up. The silver thing she had been hiding in her sleeve was lying underneath a shrub. Using her foot, Sansa was moving some dirt and leaves over it for cover.

“So I hear you’re married now.”

Sansa whirled around, fear on her face, then confusion, and finally recognition. She clasped her hands over her mouth to muffle the joyous shriek. Arya was surprised by her sister’s response. And even more surprised when Sansa drew her into a hug.

“Oh, Arya, you’re safe! Thank the gods,” She drew back from her sister, “but where have you been? I thought for sure that you would have escaped King’s Landing.”

Arya watched her sister carefully.  _She really missed me? She looks more like Mother now, practically her twin._ Outloud she said, “I did escape. I came back after Mother and Robb…” she choked up. She had been holding back her feelings, throwing herself into getting back to her sister who was now welcoming her with open arms. Sansa held her, rubbing her back the way their mother used to do.

“I know, I know. I heard about it. It took me nearly four days to get out of bed after that. Thankfully, Sandor was there for me.”

Arya stared at her, “You mean the Hound.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes. He is my husband now. And I know what you’re thinking, because everyone here thinks it. Well, nearly everyone. But he’s not a monster. He has his own code, his own honor.”

“He killed Mycah!” Arya hissed.

“He was ordered to!” Sansa shot back. “If he hadn’t, he could have been executed himself. I’m not saying it was right, because it wasn’t. But he wasn’t about to sacrifice himself for a boy he didn’t know, and would have been killed anyway. At least he gave him a clean death.”

“Did you see his body afterwards?! It was a bloody mess! You could barely tell it was him!”

Sansa shook her head. “I said his death was clean. I didn’t say anything else. You should speak to Sandor about it.”

“I’ll speak to him in the afterlife. The only thing he’s getting from me is my blade through his eye and out the back of his skull!” 

Sansa grabbed her sister. Arya was shocked at the forcefulness of it. Quietly, Sansa spoke, “Arya, you are my sister, and I love you, but if you dare try to harm Sandor in my presence, you will regret it. I owe him my life, and…” her voice softened, “I love him, with all my heart. Killing him would be killing a part of me. That is not something I could ever forgive you for.”

Arya studied her sister’s face. Sansa was a horrible liar. Everyone at Winterfell had known it. But when she spoke the truth, it was just as evident. Right now, as she spoke of her love for the monster who had killed her friend, her eyes told Arya everything she needed to know.

“Fine. I won’t kill him. For now. I reserve the right to change my mind if you are wrong about Mycah,” Arya conceded.

“I have every confidence that you will end up not killing him.” Sansa said. Arya just rolled her eyes and said nothing.

**********

Arya impatiently started cracking her knuckles as they walked. The boy next to her, Saul, gave her a wary look. Sansa hadn’t told him much, just that she needed to run ahead back to her chambers and that Saul should escort Arya at a leisurely pace. The big, blond soldier had escorted Sansa, and hadn’t even noticed Arya. Saul had mistaken her for a boy, but she didn’t correct him, and even went so far as to introduce herself as Aldo. Sansa had given her a look, but didn’t question her.

Saul coughed to get her attention, “So, Aldo, how do you know m’lady?”

Arya gave him a look, but when he didn’t cower, she sighed and said, “I knew her at her home, Winterfell.”

Saul’s eyes lit up. “You’re from Winterfell?” he asked excitedly.

“Uh, yeah. Born and raised. Why?”

Saul grinned. “Lord Sandor said I might get to see it someday. If Lady Sansa and he are able to take it back for her family, I’ll be a welcome visitor, he said.” 

“He’s going to take back Winterfell?” she asked with obvious disbelief.

“Oh yes. He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll do it. He’d do anything for Lady Sansa,” Saul said, beaming. “Me and Gar were scared when we first met him. Nearly shit our britches, actually. But he’s not that bad a man. He took us in, training me as a squire, Gar as a page. Gar doesn’t hold much ambition though, so he’ll probably stay with Lord Sandor for a while. But I want to be a knight.”

“Doesn’t the Hound look down on knights?” she asked cautiously. 

“On knights like his brother,” Saul said defensively, “though the majority of them are like Ser Gregor, I'll admit. But not all of them! He swore he’d run me through hisself if I turned out like Ser Gregor, but I’d never turn out like him. Lady Sansa is teaching me to be like her father.”

“She is?” This piqued Arya’s interest.

“Oh, but don’t tell no one!” Saul looked around to make sure no one was listening. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “He’s been named a traitor, after all, but not everyone believes such tripe. I met him once. He was a decent bloke. My mother cried when he was executed.”

“Oh. He was a good man. Everyone should have cried for him,” Arya mumbled.

“You knew him as well?”

“Well enough to know he wasn’t a traitor.”

“You’d only need to meet the man to know that,” Saul pointed out. Arya just shrugged. “Oh, we’re here. Remember, Lord Sandor isn’t as scary as he first seems. Well, no, I mean, he is, but only to those that deserve it. If you’re around a while, you’ll learn to tell when he really means it.”

Saul opened the door and invited Arya in.


	52. Sandor: Tight Breeches Make Family Time Awkward

She had pulled him back into the bedchamber without a word, closing the door behind her. She turned to him for a moment, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then went back out to speak to Brienne, Shae, Alys and Gar.

Confused, he sat down on the bed and waited patiently for her to return. It didn’t take long. She stood in the doorway, watching to make sure everyone had left before she came back to him.

She walked up to him and took his hands in hers. Again she opened her mouth to speak, closed it, turned and paced for a bit. Her concerned look, along with her pacing, was amusing him greatly. At first, when she had come back without Saul and out of breath, he had been on edge, but if she or Saul had been in danger, she would have said something already. She was obviously nervous about telling him something, but not something that was of terribly great importance.  _Something of personal importance then?_ He looked down at her abdomen, but dismissed the idea.  _No, it’s too soon for her to know THAT, isn’t it? Fairly sure_ . The thought was a pleasant one, however, and he found himself grinning at the thought of her heavy with his child.

She turned back to him again, and made an amused face at him. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that,” she said with her hands on her hips.

“Oh, I don’t know, might still be true, even if it’s not what you want to say,” he growled lightly, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. He held her with one hand, while stroking her belly with the other. “Or do we have enough time to make it true?”

He felt her shiver with delight and continued whispering huskily in her ear, “You look very lovely in my colors, little bird. A quick one, I promise, we won’t even be late to the breakfast, but sure to be satisfying. I’ll flip your skirt up, take you hard and fast, maybe right out there on the balcony, let the entire castle know your pleasure. Then we’ll go downstairs, let everyone see you in your afterglow.”

She looked up at him, her eyes hazy with desire. He grinned, that was one look he would never tire of.

Sadly, but somewhat expected, she shook her head to clear it. “If we had a few more moments to spare, I might be convinced.”

He had been half-teasing her about it, but his cock had taken it a bit too seriously. His breeches were feeling a bit too tight at the moment and seeing her in the dress she had purposely made in the Clegane family colors was a very tempting sight. Her red hair was done up in a Northern style, allowing the wavy tendrils to cascade down her back. All he wanted right now was to bury himself in her scent, bury his cock in her pussy and make her cry out his name. 

“So what’s so important that you not only had to usher out everyone else, but also won’t let me love you good and proper now that we’re alone?” He pulled up her skirt to her knee, exposing her supple skin. He inched his fingers up slowly.  _If she’s not going to just say whatever it is, I might as well have some fun._

He watched with a smirk as a blush spread rapidly across her face, but was disappointed when she jumped off his lap and straightened her skirt. 

 

“Sandor,” she said with a warning tone, as he tried to reach for her again. He sat back with a sigh.

“Alright, alright. Get on with it though. Or I really will take you out onto the balcony and make you sing for the entire castle.” He loved making her blush so prettily, his proper little bird.

“Fine, fine, they’ll be here any moment now anyway.” She huffed a little, but he could tell she wasn’t really mad.

“Who’s on their way?” he asked, his mood dropping.

She came back close to him, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Saul and….and Arya.”

“The wolf-bitch is here??” 

“Sandor!” she exclaimed, and hit him in the arm.  _Still doesn’t hurt_ , he thought, but feigned grave injury, earning him an eye roll.

“Sorry, sorry, where’s she been? She been here the whole time?” He managed to get her back in his lap without much resistance.

“No, she got out, but came back.” Sansa looked melancholy.

“Oh? Why would she want to do that?” He asked as he rubbed her back soothingly. He already had an idea of why.  _The wolf-bitch wants to make the Lannisters pay._

“For me, I think. After Mother and Robb...she--” The sound of the door opening interrupted her. “They’re back.”

He heard the voices from the other room, “Huh, normally Shae is out here. Let me go look for the others.”

“Saul,” Sandor called out. “We’re back here.”

He let go of Sansa, but didn’t complain when she stayed put. Saul entered the bedchamber with another child.  _Is that really the wolf-bitch?_ he thought, frowning. Her appearance wasn’t what he remembered.

Sansa rose then, “Thank you, Saul, for bringing Aldo here. I sent the others to the kitchens, to see if they could be of any help. Please go join them.”

Saul looked over at Sandor for confirmation. He nodded and said, “Go on, runt. Best hop to it if you don’t want a beating.” Saul grinned and bowed low before leaving.

They all waited until they heard the door shut behind him.

“Sansa, get off of him right  _now_ ,” she growled. He felt his anger bubbling up. Clearly, she was of a mind to separate him from his wife, and sister or not, he wasn’t about to let her do that.

Sansa stood up, but did not move away from him. She stood between them, her shoulders squared and her back as straight as an arrow.  _Every bit the wolf_ , he thought proudly.

“Arya, what did I ask you?” Her voice was eerily calm.

“Bugger that and  _move away from him_ ,” the younger Stark snarled.

“Arya,” her voice was low, but even Sandor felt a chill from the warning in it. 

It happened in a flash. Arya charged forth, intending on getting past her elder sister, her dagger out and aimed at Sandor. His own dagger was several feet away, too far to defend against her. His arms were raised instead. Better a wound on his arm than in his chest.

His vision tunneled down to the angry girl hurling herself towards him.  _She won’t hurt her sister_ . Of that, he was certain. Him, on the other hand, he had felt the bloodlust from the moment Saul shut the door behind him. He braced for the impact, but nothing happened. He looked over to where he had seen her, and was shocked to find her on her back, with Sansa kneeling her. The dagger was still in her hand, but she no longer had a death grip on it.

“Arya, what did I tell you?” Sansa asked her sister. 

“That I would regret it.” It was barely above a whisper.

“And do you?” she asked softly. Sandor saw Arya, the blood had drained from her face, but there were drops of bright red dripping slowly onto her neck from above her. Horrified, he realized what had happened.

“Little bird!”

“I’m ok, Sandor, please stay where you are.” She kept her focus on her sister.

i

“Bugger that. Let me see your wound!” He started forward and she whipped her head towards him. The look in her eyes stopped him in his tracks.

i

“A moment, Sandor. That is all I ask.”

He was able to see it a bit more clearly. It didn’t look deep, but would need tending all the same. “Fine, take your damn moment,” he growled and left the room.  _Damn me if I can’t take care of my own wife!_ He rummaged through the supplies and medicines Gar had stowed away in case anyone got hurt. He counted to one hundred, hoping that that was enough time for her damned requested moment.  _I will string that skinny little wolf-bitch up and feed her to the dogs if Sansa isn’t ok_ . Finding what he needed, he stormed back into the bedchamber. Sansa was sitting on the bed, holding a cloth to her neck. Arya was no where to be seen, though her dagger had been abandoned on the floor. Sandor didn’t care, as long as she didn’t come after him before he could see to his wife.

Sansa didn’t object to his care, and silently followed his directions as he tended the shallow cut. Once he was done, she took his hands in hers and looked up at him. “Sandor, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” He still felt churlish and wanted to hear her say it. 

“For being short with you, for causing you worry, for allowing Arya to get close enough to try to kill you.”

She admitted it all so readily that Sandor felt a small pang of guilt, though he didn’t consider the last one something she needed to apologize for.

“Little bird,” he wasn’t sure how to put it into words, “I appreciate you standing up for me, but...you didn’t need to put yourself in harm’s way to do that.” He trailed a finger over the bandage he had placed on her neck. 

“But I did. Arya would have killed you, or you her. I couldn’t let that happen. Though,” she dropped her eyes to the floor, “I do admit that I overestimated myself on stopping her. Thankfully, my mistake did not cost me more than a mere cut. It could have been worse.”

Angrily, he said, “Aye! What would have happened if she had stabbed you in the belly, or worse, in the heart?” He grabbed her, wanting to shake some sense into her, “What would I do if you died?!”

She gave him a sad smile, “And what would I do if you died? If one of you killed the other?”

“I--” He hadn’t thought of that. She reached up to stroke his hair.

“You are my love, the other half of me. I will protect you, as you protect me. In every capacity. If you die, a part of me will die as well, if not all of me. And I will not let you die, not if I can help it. Arya is my baby sister, it is my duty to look after her. I realize now that I was not as prepared as I thought I was, but I would still step between you two if I had to do it over again. I love you, and I love her. I do not want either of you to get hurt. Maybe you won’t ever be the best of friends, but maybe, just maybe, you could be allies. Is any of that really so wrong?”

“No. I suppose not,” he grumbled. “Where is she?”

She looked over at the balcony. “She was out there. Unless she scaled down the castle wall, she should still be there.”

“Stay here, keep pressure on the cut. I’ll go to her,” he said and kissed her lightly on the lips. Sansa nodded and sat back against the pillows.

“This is one hell of a morning for a wedding,” he mumbled to himself as he walked out onto the balcony. Sure enough, Arya was sitting on the edge of the stone railing. “Wol--I mean, goodsister. We need to talk.”


	53. Arya: Uneasy Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why there's a sudden jump in chapter numbers, here's the reason: Yesterday I was updating the story description, to include where the Tyrion/Shae and Jaime/Brienne bits start, and I realized that I had skipped a WHOLE chapter. There was supposed to be an interlude of Tyrion in between a Sansa and a Sandor chapter. I uploaded it yesterday, it is Chapter 40. It's got some cute moments, some pretty good lines (if I do say so myself) and fills in a couple of gaps. Sorry for my mishap, I will be more attentive in the future.
> 
> * * *

Her anger had taken over her good sense when she saw him again. Sansa sitting on his lap, in their bedchamber, it had been too perfect, more than a murderer like him deserved, and she had lashed out.

Never had she imagined her sister would actually stand against her, or that she could move so quickly.  _Or be so forceful._ Arya had been mid-jump when Sansa’s arm had snaked out to grab her by the waist, but her momentum had sent them both spinning. They landed hard on the floor, her dagger had been poised to take out the Hound, but in their fall, had scraped against Sansa’s throat. She had felt her blood drain from her face as Sansa’s dripped onto to it.  _What have I done?!_

Sansa had asked, “Arya, what did I tell you?” 

“That I would regret it,” she said painfully. The words felt like ash in her mouth as her eyes began to burn.

“And do you?” she asked, her eyes were deadly calm. 

“Little bird!” she heard the Hound call out, his voice full of anguish.  _He can see the blood_ , Arya thought. Her brain was wildly jumping from thought to emotion and emotion to thought.  _He’s concerned about her. Oh fuck, he's going to kill me for this, isn't he? Shit, that look in his eyes. I'd kill him for something like this. Shit shit shit. He really does love her. But does she love him? Shit Shit SHIT_

“I’m ok, Sandor, please stay where you are.” Her eyes were boring holes into Arya’s, reminding her of Nymeria when she hadn’t been fed yet and a stray chicken wandered into her sights.

“Bugger that. Let me see your wound!” he demanded angrily. Sansa turned to set those dangerous eyes on her husband. Arya felt a smack of satisfaction that even the Hound could be stopped by those eyes, despite the situation.

“A moment, Sandor. That is all I ask.” Her voice was calm, but left no room for argument.

“Fine, take your damn moment,” he growled and stomped out of the room.

She turned back to Arya. “Well?”

Tears burned her eyes, “Yes,” She let the dagger fall from her hand. “I regret it.”

“Good.” Her eyes softened and she drew Arya up into a hug. “That’s the little sister I know and love.”

Arya sniffled. “Mother told me to protect you, but you seem to be doing fine on your own.”

Sansa smiled, stood and gave Arya a helping hand up. “In another life, I would be cowering. Sandor has helped me find my strength. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same. Please, just talk to him. He told me about your friend Mycah. You need to hear his side of it. Being angry at the ones who hurt us is one thing. Being angry at everyone is something entirely different. Take revenge, by all means, but not at the expense of you. Not at the expense of our family.”

Arya spun on her heel and marched out onto the balcony. Her eyes still burned from her tears as she perched herself on the wide stone railing.  _I hurt Sansa, my sister, one of my pack. If I can’t stand by my family, then what good am I?_ She stood there, looking out at the ocean that lay in the distance.  _Beyond the Bay, across the Narrow Seas, maybe I’ll find my purpose there._ She dug into her pocket for one of the few possessions she had. The well-worn coin shined brightly in the morning sun.  _I know where I need to go from here._

She heard voices coming out of the bedchamber. Listening, she heard the Hound yelling at Sansa. She heard his panic. Even more than that, she heard the underlying fear in his anger, “--hat would have happened if she had stabbed you in the belly, or worse, in the heart? What would I do if you died?!”

_That’s actually kind of sweet_ , Arya thought. She couldn’t hear her sister’s response, but whatever it was, it mollified the Hound.

“This is one hell of a morning for a wedding,” she heard him mutter a few minutes later as he walked out onto the balcony. “Wol--I mean, goodsister. We need to talk.”

“About?” she asked petulantly.

He leaned against the doorway, “You want my head. I’d like to keep it. It may be ugly, but your sister seems to like it where it is.”

Arya snorted, “That’s because she has no taste. First Joffrey, now you.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Better ugly on the outside than ugly on the inside.”

She could concede that point. Returning to his reason for being out here with her, she spat out, “You killed my friend. For no reason. You rode him down and butchered him. That is why I want your ugly head skewered on my blade, shoved through your eye and out the back of your skull.”

Angrily, he countered, “Oh, aye, I butchered the butcher’s boy. But that wasn’t for no reason. I could have brought him back alive, but I knew what would happen. I had seen it before. The boy comes back to answer for his supposed crimes, in this case, being with you when the golden prince came across you two and your wolf. You wouldn’t have been harmed, you being Lord Eddard’s daughter and all. But him? He’s just a butcher’s boy.” The Hound leaned in, growling, “He would have been punished in your place, brought back here to the castle and locked in a cell, maybe even a black cell. Tortured for days on end, if not weeks, and then finally,  _finally_ , when his spirit was broken, as well as his body, then he would have been killed, as an afterthought. All because Joffrey couldn’t take it out on you. I couldn’t let him die like that. I couldn’t fake his death either. Not without proof of death. So I had him strip off his clothes. Caught a wild boar. Dressed it up as your little friend. And butchered the damned thing to bring back a bloody body to satisfy the royals. He even helped make it look more like a human than a pig. Oh, aye, make no mistake, the butcher’s boy died that day. And good riddance. He was an idiot for being friends with the likes of you. But your friend is out there, he’s just no longer a butcher’s boy.”

Arya’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water. The look of smug satisfaction he had was too much for her. Finding her voice, she said, “You sure get mouthy when you talk, Hound.”

“And you deserve a good thrashing for harming your sister.”

“You mean, for harming your wife,” Arya said sourly.  _Just because I don’t hate him doesn’t mean I have to like him. He’s still an ass._

Sandor shrugged. “Either way, you deserve it. But I’ll let your future husband deal with you, assuming you can find someone masochistic enough to wed you,” he said, grinning maliciously. “So, truce?”

_Annnnd I’m back to hating him._


	54. Brienne: Waiting

Scanning the crowd in front of the gardens, Brienne looked for a familiar red-haired lady and scarred, burly lord. She had been overjoyed when Lord Clegane had asked her to join their household as Lady Sansa’s sworn shield. 

_“Though if you’re going to run off in the name of vengeance, at least let me know so that Sansa is not left unguarded,” he warned. “If something should happen to her because you want justice for Renly, I will personally hunt you down and gut you.”_

_“Sandor!” her lady exclaimed, embarrassed that he had said it so bluntly._

_It offended her honor that he should think she would abandon her charge so salaciously to go after Stannis, but also mollified her that she had been about to ask that he not stand in her way should she find an opportunity to avenge her former king. She nodded her agreement and knelt before Sansa to say her oath._

_“I swear, by the old gods and the new, I am yours. I will be your shield and your sword, I will keep your counsel, and give my life for yours, if need be,” she said solemnly._

_“I accept your oath and I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise, Lady Brienne of Tarth, as my sworn shield,” Lady Sansa said. She embraced Brienne warmly. “Welcome to our family.”_

Sansa accepted her as readily as her mother once had. It warmed her heart to know that there were people in this world that accepted her as is, and didn’t wish to change her core self. Though Sansa had mentioned getting Brienne “new clothes that fit her new position”, which made her worry a bit, but after seeing her lady had done some quick alterations to her current clothing, she changed her mind. It was still a men’s style, but she felt more feminine in it than any dress had made her.  _I suppose Lady Sansa might be on to something_ .

“You look quite fetching today,” she heard from behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. Jaime circled around her. “And I do mean that sincerely.” She had gotten more used to seeing him in his Kingsguard attire, and was less likely to be stopped short by the mere sight of the breathtaking visage.  _Oh gods, I’m waxing poetic!_ she thought, glad that no one could hear her embarrassing thoughts.

Part of her was pleased with the compliment. She had been very careful in her original selection of clothing, before the alterations had been made, as she not only represented her father’s house, but also now Lady Sansa.

The other part of her did not believe him. She knew she was not much too look at. He seemed to sense her feelings on the matter. “You’ll never outdo an actual beauty, mind you, but I suppose you’ll do for a quick dance at the reception.”

That made her smile a bit, his odd compliments that sounded anything but were amusing now. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. You look very handsome in your armor.”

He grinned back at her. “Well, of course I do. I’m Jaime fuckin’ Lannister. The gods wept with joy the day they created me.”

She laughed at that. “Yes, I suppose they did.”

Jaime gave her a mock surprised look, “Do my ears deceive me or was that a compliment from the ever stoic Lady Brienne of Tarth?”

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Still grinning, Jaime looked around. “And where are your new employers? Having a quick tumble before the day’s events?”

Brienne blushed despite herself.  _The man just lives to be scandalous!_ she thought. Outloud, she said, “I don’t know. They said to meet them here. Lady Sansa needed to speak to Lord Sandor alone, but it did not seem to be of the nature you suggest.”

“Oh, I didn’t suggest anything. I said it quite bluntly. I would say a few more, but it looks like my dear sister needs a word with me. Enjoy the breakfast, Brienne.” He gave her one last smile before heading off to see the queen.


	55. Cersei: Questionable

Jaime gave her a smile as he sauntered up. “You were looking for me, Your Grace?”

She looked past him at the behemoth he had been speaking to. “Who is that monstrous woman?” She missed the look he gave her, she stared so intently at the tall blond dressed in a men’s style of clothing. She had to admit that it was well suited to the woman’s form, but it was still outrageous.

Tensely, he said, “That is my deliverer, Lady Brienne of Tarth. You remember, I spoke to you of her at length.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I suppose I imagined her to be more like those dreadful Mormonts. At least  _they_ look female,” she snidely remarked. “Whatever could you have to say to her?”

“Just general humdrum conversation. Her health, the weather, how she likes King’s Landing, will there be another last minute exchange of groom or of bride…” Jaime said coolly.

“Hmph, after everything that’s happened, let’s hope not. Thank the gods that the Tyrells didn’t go for Father’s proposal of marrying me to their precious cripple, Willas. I was already planning how to avoid it, but they saved me the trouble.” Cersei made a face. “Can you imagine it? Me, married to that--”

He brought his fingers up to her lips, “Speak carefully, dear sister, we are surrounded by Tyrell men.”

She made a face. “Anyway, I’m more concerned on where the Hound is and where exactly his loyalties lie. I heard he has asked Father leave to visit his new estate and take Sansa with him. Father told him to ask again after the wedding, but the man is persistent if nothing else. Once they leave, we’ll lose our hold on the North, which is already quite precarious. The only upside there is that they would be taking Tyrion’s little whore with them, but Father will deal with her shortly.”

She missed the flash of concern that crossed his face. When she looked at him, he was all grins and teeth. “Clegane has a pretty new wife and a new estate. I don’t think it’s preposterous to think that he would like some time alone with her there. Seven hells, he probably wants to bless the grounds by fucking her on every part of it he possibly can. My bigger worry is: Should I be jealous that you’re concerned on the whereabouts of another man?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “As if I’d do anything with the Hound. His loyalty is in question and all you can do is jest.”

“On the contrary, I am most serious. And jealousy does wild things to me.” He smiled wickedly and leaned in a little closer, “Like make me want to claim you by taking you behind that pillar over there and ravaging that sweet cunt of yours while the crowd walks on by without knowing any wiser.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about? Why don’t you make yourself useful and go stand guard somewhere?” she asked, walking away.


	56. Sansa: Hidden In Plain Sight

As she walked arm in arm with Sandor, and a very thoroughly disguised Arya at her heels, Sansa felt a bit more relaxed now, but would feel much better once the day was over and done with. They were seated near the royal couple, and could see Tyrion easily. He smiled at them and gave a little wave.

The breakfast was a pleasant enough event, at least until Joffrey attacked one of his presents with another. Sansa was shocked as the pieces of paper fluttered down around the boy king. The tome had been a thick one, but the sword had cut through it quite cleanly, hacking it to pieces in a flash. Tyrion was horrified as well.  _Poor Tyrion. Knowing him, it was a good book, too_ . She felt a sudden stab of sorrow in her heart when Joffrey lifted the blade in the air, but she could not explain why.

She heard Arya growl behind her. “Shush, Aldo. Now is not the time.”

“Revenge knows no propriety,” hissed Arya. Sansa shook her head, but it was Sandor that talked her out of it.

“Maybe not, but revenge knows patience. Strike now, and you’ll never get to him. You will die. Watch and wait, until the opportune time reveals itself.” His hushed tones could not be overheard by anyone nearby, but it also added to the graveness of his voice. Arya considered his words and settled down. Sansa looked around them, making sure no one was within earshot. Saul had gone back to the rooms with Alys and Gar, while Shae and Brienne had stayed behind. Brienne was standing to the side and could not hear the exchange. Shae only gave a curious look at the child next to her.

Arya was playing at being a servant for the time being. Sansa felt it was better to keep her sister near to her, in case anything happened. Looking over at the younger Stark, Sansa could barely tell it was her. In addition to the boyish haircut, Sansa had styled it to hide Arya’s distinctive eyes, as well as applying a bit of powder to make it appear lighter. Arya had adopted a slouching stance and a slight shuffle walk. The effect was astounding. Cersei had looked right at Arya with absolutely no recognition.  _Well, to be fair, Cersei looked at her about as much as she looked at any of the other servants_ , Sansa thought. It worked and that was all Sansa cared about.


	57. Brienne: Do Not Lie to Mother

The handmaiden Shae was crying her eyes out when Brienne returned to the Cleganes chambers with Sansa and Aldo. The sellsword turned knight, Bronn, was standing in the corner. Sandor had sent Shae to deliver a message to Tyrion after the breakfast. Brienne had offered to go in the smaller woman’s stead, but the Hound had glared at her and said to mind her own business. She could only assume that Bronn had escorted Shae back to the Cleganes, but she couldn’t figure out why he was still here.

She also wasn’t sure how to react to a crying woman, having never really had any female acquaintances before, but Sansa took over before Brienne worried too much about it.

“What is the matter, Shae?” Sansa asked softly as she embraced the woman. Brienne shut the front door quietly. She could see Saul and Gar peeking out from behind the door that lead to the small room where they slept at night. She tsked at them, causing their eyes to go wide from being caught and shutting that door loudly in their haste. Frowning, she knew she would need to speak to Sansa about their behavior. Yes, they were just curious boys, but they needed to know that they had been rude in their curiosity as well. Aldo just shrugged at her and went to join the other two, thankfully closing the door again behind him.

She turned back to the other two women. Briefly, she wondered where Alys was. That girl was usually underfoot, but now was nowhere to be seen. Taking a seat on the other side of Shae, Brienne listened patiently. 

Sansa turned to the sellsword knight. “Ser Bronn?”

“Shae is leaving. Soon, m’lady. I’m to escort her to to the harbor, but she insisted on seeing you first,” he said quietly.

“He..he’s sending me uh-uh-AWAY!” Shae sobbed and threw herself into Brienne’s arms. Panicking, Brienne looked over at Sansa, who motioned for her to hug the crying woman. Brienne was not comfortable with that and settled on patting Shae’s back in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

“Did he say why?” Sansa asked gently. Brienne wondered who “he” was.  _Sansa seems to know what’s going on_ .

“He said...he said....he doesn’t  _love_ me...that he...that he’s done with me!” Her crying was becoming hysterical, shaking her entire body. Brienne could only continue to pat her back. She had to admire how Sansa was able to stay calm in this battle of emotions.  _Give me a sword and shield any day over this!_ Brienne thought.

“Shh...there, there, Shae, my ever faithful handmaiden. Wonderful, loving, mysterious Shae. Beautiful, funny, fierce Shae. I’m sure that it is not true,” Sansa cooed at her. “I’ve seen you together. If he said he doesn’t love you, he must have been lying. Who knows why, but I’m sure we can work something out.” Brienne noticed Bronn stiffen at those words. 

“Ly...lying? Do...do you really think so?” Shae asked. She was clutching at Brienne’s doublet like her life depended on it. She was still crying, but hearing Sansa’s words seemed to have calmed her down considerably. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bronn shift uncomfortably. _What the hell is going on?_ she thought. 

“Yes, I do. Now, you stay here with Brienne. I will be right back, ok?” Sansa said cheerfully. Brienne panicked again. It must have been obvious, because Sansa motioned to her to stay calm and continue as she was. Brienne really did feel bad for Shae and was trying her best to be comforting. Whoever “he” was, he was breaking Shae’s heart.  _No one deserves that_ , she thought.

The cheerfulness left Sansa’s face as she turned and marched over to Bronn. Brienne had seen similar looks from Lady Catelyn and started to feel bad for the sellsword knight to be on the receiving end. In hushed tones that Brienne could not make out, they argued for a few minutes. Finally, Sansa grabbed him by the earlobe and twisted it. He inhaled sharply, but did not cry out. He bent his body to attempt to alleviate her grip, to no avail.

His voice was pained as he said, “M’lady, I swear...”

“I am  _Lady Sansa Clegane_ , formerly of House  _Stark_ . A dog can smell a lie and so can a wolf. Swear to your lies  _one_ more time and I will pull your ear off,” Sansa threatened. Brienne thought she saw tears from Bronn.  _Her children will be more terrified of crossing her than of the Hound!_

No one heard the front door open.


	58. Sandor: Fucking Imp

Of all the things he expected to find in his chambers, the scene before him was not one of them. The soldier woman was holding Shae as if the handmaiden was an egg that was to fall and Sansa was being violent towards Bronn, threatening to pull his ear off. He unconsciously rubbed his own good ear, remembering back to their first dance as husband and wife.  _She’s going to make a great mother_ , he thought.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. Everyone turned towards him, surprised to see him.

“Sandor…” Sansa looked down at what she was doing to Bronn, but did not let go. Squaring her shoulders, she said coolly, “We are having a disagreement. Bronn swears he is telling the truth. I say he is lying. If he’s going to misbehave, then I will treat him like a misbehaving child.”

“M’lord, a little help, if you would be so kind?” Bronn asked. Sandor felt bad for him, he really did. But he also did not want to lie to his wife. It didn’t take a genius to realize she was trying to protect Shae. He sighed heavily.  _Fucking Imp and his plan_ .

“Bronn, just tell them.”

“Tyrion won’t like this,” he said, wincing as Sansa twisted his ear a little more.

“Fuck the dwarf. I agreed to help protect Shae, not to lie to my wife.” 

Bronn considered this and threw his hands up in submission. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. I wasn’t keen on this plan of his either.” Sansa let him go and cross her arms over her chest, waiting expectantly. He gave her a wolfish grin, “Too bad you’re already married lass, I might have fallen in love.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed as Sandor growled at that, but Bronn just kept grinning and said, “Well, truth of the matter is that a certain pretty foreigner has been found out by the Hand and the Queen. In order to protect the pretty foreigner, a certain short lord is shipping her to a faraway land, where she would live in luxury and security.” He looked over at Shae. “He was trying to make it easier for you to leave by telling you he didn’t love you. He’d rather break your heart and his, then let his father get a hold of you. I thought that was rather hoity-toity of him, but he’s one of the dumbest smart men I know.”

Sandor agreed with the man. While incredibly brilliant, Tyrion made some equally stupid choices when his heart was involved. He looked over at Sansa, whose mouth had fallen open in shock.

It was Brienne who broke the silence, “Is there anything we can do?”

“He has already found her passage on a ship,” Sandor chimed in. “I would advise you be on that ship, girl,” he said to Shae, “If you want to survive.”

Shae looked up at him with defiant eyes. She knew he wouldn’t force her to do anything, nor would he raise a hand against her, so she asked boldly, “Would you leave her? If it meant that you would live, but never again be with her?”

Sandor grimaced.  _Never in a million years, not even for all the gold at the Rock, no, make that all the gold in the world. Shit, she’s never going to leave this place_ . He sighed again. “So that’s your answer?”

She nodded. He swore, “Fucking Imp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> I just want to say that I really appreciate all the nice comments everyone leaves. I'm happy that you like my writing enough to stick it out with me for so many chapters. I'm honestly not sure when this story will wind down, but I hope you continue to enjoy it. And I'm finding the competition for first comment to be thrilling. :D


	59. Tyrion: Purple Wedding, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee~ And so it begins.  
> 
> 
> **********

The feast had originally been planned to be held in the Great Hall, but as the designs for the wedding grew, the Great Hall wasn’t quite as spacious as his sister had liked. She had ordered a renovation on a section of the gardens Tyrion had been fond of, in order to create a space worthy of such a historical wedding. Despite his misgivings about it, he did have to admit it turned out quite well. The setting sun illuminated the sky with a brilliant array of reds, pinks, oranges and yellows. Torches, candles and lamps were already been lit all around to stave off the impending darkness.

Nervously, Tyrion tilted his wine cup, swirling it slowly. All day he had been terrified that Shae would suddenly disappear to somewhere he would not be able to save her from. He could barely stomach his food, let alone his wine. Pod had found a ship to take Shae, but they weren’t scheduled to leave until much later that night. Bronn was staying with her on the ship until it was time to cast off. The ship’s captain was waiting on some cargo or some other business. She had not taken the news well, forcing him to yell at her until she let go. It was one of the hardest things he had done, walking away from his beautiful, crying Shae.  _It’s for her own good_ , he had to keep telling himself, though each time it felt like a sword through his heart.

He looked down at the red liquid again.  _It’s such a good vintage too_ , he thought, feigning a sip. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion. The new century was upon them, and the king was getting married. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. The Tyrell girl had been beautiful in her heavily embroidered wedding frock. Joffrey had been oddly beautiful as well. Now, the wedding feast was in full swing and Joffrey was making quiet, and probably snide, commentary to his new queen. She gave him tight smiles, but the boy didn’t seem to notice she did not share his amusement. Entertainer after entertainer performed in front of them. Some were quite good, others were only so so, in Tyrion’s opinion. Dontos was abysmal, but the king rather enjoyed watching the crowd chuck various items at his head in order to knock off the fool’s hat. Moonboy was more successful, though Joffrey cut his performance short.

He could see his dear sister making the rounds with their illustrious father, speaking to various guests and trading barbs with others. Oberyn Martell seemed to be the most successful of the barb traders. Cersei stormed off after only a few comments, leaving Tywin alone with the younger Dornish prince and his lovely paramour. Tyrion had already had the privilege of meeting Ellaria and he had found her to be a delight. Her dark coloring reminded him of Shae. He sighed and gave himself a short reprieve, his thoughts drifting to daydreams of Shae walking with him amidst the crowd, wearing matching Lannister red outfits, and being introduced as “Shae, my lady wife.”


	60. Cersei: Purple Wedding, Part 2

The nerve of that upstart! Cersei thought, grabbing a wine cup from the table next to her and downing it quickly. The veiled threat towards her daughter would not go unpunished. Briefly, she closed her eyes, imagined taking her father’s sword and sliding it easily into Oberyn’s defenseless belly. The thought calmed her, teasing a small, cruel smile from her lips. She opened her eyes. Immediately, she was drawn to the woman leaving the dais after giving her congratulations to the newly married couple.

“Lady Brienne!” she called out, putting on her best smile.

The tall woman returned the smile and gave Cersei a bow. “Your Grace.”

“Did you just bow?” Cersei asked incredulously, and yet was amused. Brienne’s smile became shy.

“My apologies, Your Grace. I never did master the curtsy.”

“I owe you my gratitude, Lady Brienne. If not for you, my dear brother would not have made it back,” Cersei said quietly, nodding over to Jaime standing above the seated crowd. Brienne looked over at the man clad in white armor. Cersei watched as the blush crept across the woman’s cheeks and her eyes narrowed. Brienne did not notice. Jaime gave them a little wave before turning back to the crowd.

“In truth, he saved me as much as I saved him, Your Grace. On more than one occasion.”

“Really? I haven’t heard that story before,” Cersei said, concealing the anger that was beginning to bubble up.  _Another upstart? They just keep on coming today, don’t they? Clearly, you need to learn your place. No one takes Jaime from me_ .

“I’m afraid it’s not very interesting…” Brienne began.

“Oh I’m sure you’re just  _full_ of interesting stories,” Cersei said icily. “Sworn to Renly, then Lady Stark, and now...now my brother. Must be so  _exciting_ , flitting from one camp to the other, serving whichever lord, or lady, takes your fancy.”

“Your grace...I am not sworn to your brother,” Brienne protested weakly.

“But you do love him.” Cersei stared her down.  _And he will NEVER be yours, you ugly troll_ . 

“Only like a brother…” Brienne mumbled. Cersei’s anger flared as her beautiful face contorted, and Brienne eyes went wide when she realized what she had said. “M-my apologies, again, Your G-grace,” she stuttered as she hurried away. 

  
Cersei wanted to storm after her, rip her tunic from her body and show the world what a disgrace of a woman Lady Brienne of Tarth was.  _But that would be uncouth_ , she thought and settled for refilling her wine cup while plotting to rid King’s Landing of a certain ugly wench.


	61. Jaime: Purple Wedding, Part 3

He turned back to see Brienne practically running away from his sister, who was staring daggers at the fleeing woman’s back. _If looks could kill…_ he thought. _I guess it was a bit extreme to hope they could be friends_. He sighed and beckoned Loras, who had been on his way to the dais.

“Yes, Commander?” the younger man asked.

“Loras, I need a quick break. Watch this area for me. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Of course, take your time, ser.”

“Good lad,” he said as he walked off to find Brienne.

**********

He found her hiding behind her lady’s skirts, so to speak. She was sitting at the table the Cleganes had been assigned to. Sansa was chatting jovially about something to Brienne, who only seemed to be half-listening.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Brienne. Lovely day for a wedding, isn’t it? Oh, but Sansa, what happened to your neck?” he asked, noticing a bandage on her white throat. It was tucked into the collar of her dress. Brienne was startled and looked more closely herself.

Sansa blushed under the attention. “I was hoping no one would notice,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I was playing with one of the cats in the Keep, and something startled the poor thing! It ended up scratching my throat in its hurry to get away. It’s not bad, but it does look awful.” She cast her eyes down. Jaime felt a little ashamed about asking her.

He cleared his throat, “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t something more serious. Lady Brienne, may I have a word with you, in private?” He smiled gently.

She hesitated. “Brienne,” Sansa said, “Don’t worry about me. Aldo is here, and we’re surrounded by so many people. And look, Sandor is headed this way as well.” Brienne looked up. Jaime didn’t turn around, but the look on Brienne’s face assured him that Clegane was indeed on his way. She stood, gave Sansa a bow, and followed Jaime.

He lead her to an empty section of the garden, one untouched by Cersei’s designs. There was a large fountain in the middle. He sat on the edge of it and beckoned for her to do the same. She followed suit, staying silent the entire time.

“Wen--,” he stopped. He began again, softly saying, “Brienne...are you alright?”

“Of course, Ser Jaime. Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked neutrally. She stared at the ground. He took her hand in his.

“Brienne, what did my sister say to you?” he asked gently. She did not shy away from his touch, but he also wasn’t entirely certain she realised it either.

“Nothing but the truth.”

“Brienne…” The sounds of merriment died away, the nearby crowd had gone silent, bringing both Jaime and Brienne to full alert. Silently, they returned to the crowd, letting go of each other’s hand only when they needed to part ways.


	62. Brienne: Purple Wedding, Part 4

She swore could still feel the heat from Jaime’s hand after she had returned to the Cleganes’ side, which was ridiculous, since he had been wearing his gauntlets. She thought her face was going to melt from all the blushing she was doing, ever since she let go of his hand, thereby realizing she was holding his hand in the first place. When had it happened? When had she fallen in love with that pompous, overbearing, two-faced, gallant, sweet, oddly chivalrous idiot of a man?

Hearing the queen say it so venomously, as if to use those words to poison her, had made her brain start to fizzle out. That was the only explanation she could give for her response to her Grace. She was so shocked, and yet, she had known, hadn’t she? It was the reason she kept him at a distance. She may love him, but she would never have him. Setting aside his very unbrotherly love for his own sister, which still made her a bit queasy, he was still a member of the Kingsguard.  _They hold no lands, take no wife, father no children_ . Well, that last bit wasn’t true, but he was unable to claim his bloodkin for his own, even if it wasn’t by his own twin.  _They would be killed before the day was out. Even if he has no fatherly feelings for them, he’d never sell out anyone as innocent as children_ . Though from what she had heard and seen so far of Joffrey, it might not have been the worst thing in the world. She only felt a slight bit of remorse for those thoughts.

The silence that had brought Jaime and her back to the feast was no longer there. The king had called for everyone to be quiet, that this was not a day of entertainment, it was a day of history. Now, his speech done, he called forth a giant lion’s head, operated by mummers, she assumed. A crank was turned and out spilled five dwarves, each dressed like one of the five kings, but a caricature of each, except for Joffrey. She had an excellent view from the table they sat at, one of the closest to the entertainment area and the wedding dais.

She went cold when she saw the dwarf dressed as Renly. She saw Ser Loras stiffen as well, though he stood his ground and did not react. Queen Margaery was as still as a statue, but the look in her eyes scared Brienne a little…Joffrey did not notice. Cersei, on the other hand, was delighted and clapping along with the ones in the crowd who took this as mere mummery. Lady Olenna was looking thoughtful, but not in a pleasant way.

She looked over at her lady, who had turned away. Not in horror, or sadness, as one might have assumed, but in rage. Sandor kept watching the farce of a play, but his jaw was clenched, the burns and scars tight with fury. Brienne could not see it, but she knew their hands were joined in unity. She saw the handsome Dornish prince behind them, several tables away, but he and his paramour did not join in the cheering as the dwarves acted out the “events” of the war. Neither did the Master of Whispers, nor the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It lifted her heart to see that Jaime did not condone this. She looked over at the little lord next. It did not take a mind reader to see the disgust he clearly felt.  _For the play, for the actors or both?_

She was surprised to feel a small hand embrace hers, and even more surprised when she saw it belonged to the new servant boy, Aldo. 

“Renly was your king, wasn’t he?” he whispered. Brienne nodded. The boy continued, “Robb was mine. Joffrey will get was is coming to him. They all will.”

Brienne grasped that little hand as she watched with the others, grateful that she was not alone in her pain. The play ended, with “King Joffrey” standing as the winner, dressed in clothing identical to the actual Joffrey.

Holding up a heavy looking coin bag, “A purse for the champion!” He paused dramatically, “But you cannot be the true champion if you do not take on all challengers. Are there any who would like to challenge my reign? Perhaps you, uncle?” Joffrey looked over at his uncle Tyrion. “I’m sure they have a spare costume you could use.”

“I fear that I have lost my taste for battle, Your Grace,” Tyrion said smoothly, though his words were a bit clipped. “I would like to keep what is left of my face. Perhaps you should join the fight, show everyone how a real king defends his crown. I am a first-hand witness to your bravery on the field, and will testify to it.”

Even from where she sat, she could see the vein in Joffrey’s forehead bulge. She heard a giggle from Aldo, who had let go of her hand, and a snicker from Sandor. Lady Sansa did not make a sound, but Brienne could see the barest of smiles, one that matched her own. The crowd was tense as Joffrey picked up his wine goblet, walked over to his uncle, and slowly dispensed the wine onto the little lord’s head. The mummers were quietly making their exit, though Brienne did not think anyone else actually noticed them leave.

“Such a shame to spill such a fine vintage,” Tyrion said dryly, dabbing at the wine with his napkin.

“It did not spill,” protested Joffrey.

“My love!” Margaery called out, “Come back to me, my father’s toast is next!” Brienne could have kissed her, she knew how to distract the king so well.

Joffrey smiled at her.   _An evil smile_ , Brienne thought.  _He will not allow himself to be distracted_ . She knew that look. She had seen it in many a man before.

“But how can I toast if I have no wine? Uncle! You will be my cupbearer, since you’re too craven to fight.” Joffrey’s face, so like Jaime’s yet so much more like Cersei’s, a cruel sneer nearly blinding everyone with his malicious intent. Brienne could see his mother’s proud smile, proud of the cruel boy she had raised.  _Despite his rude and selfish behavior, Jaime would never raise children such as this one_ , Brienne thought.

Tyrion gave the king a patient smile, “It would be an honor to serve as your cupbearer.”

The king’s sneer turned into pure scorn. “It is not  _meant_ as an honor.” He extended his arm, to give the cup to his approaching uncle, but right before Tyrion could take it, the king dropped it. Tyrion began to kneel to pick it up, but Joffrey kicked it, right off the dais. Brienne could see Tyrion’s clenched jaw from where she sat, his tight smile as he turned to walk to the short staircase to retrieve the cup. The crowd was so silent, waiting on baited breath to see what would happen next. Brienne saw it coming, the boy king’s foot lifted ever so slightly, and proceed to kick Tyrion off the dais as well. He must have startled Dontos, because the motley dressed fool suddenly went careening onto the floor, landing right on top of Tyrion. A loud “OOF” could be heard, followed by a groan. Aldo shot out and helped first Dontos up, than Tyrion. Brienne hadn’t even been aware that Aldo had left her side.

“Oww, ow, ow…” Tyrion was favoring his left leg. He carefully turned to the king, “My apologies, your grace. I seem to have injured myself. As much as I was looking forward to being your cupbearer, I fear that I must excuse myself and find one of the maesters.”

Joffrey scowled, “I don’t care if your leg is broken, you will--”

“Look! The pie!” Margaery cried out happily. Everyone turned to watch the royal bakers bring in the giant pigeon pie, except for Brienne. She was more worried about what would happen to Tyrion. He had been kind to her in her brief meeting with him and she did not want to see harm come to him. Joffrey was distracted as well, enough that Jaime was able to get his injured brother out of there and returned before the king realized what had happened. Dontos was looking around, like a fool, confused on what was going on.  _Probably drunk yet again_ , Brienne thought. She had had the misfortune of running into Dontos a few times and each time he was as drunk as humanly possible, if not more.

Joffrey turned, and finding his uncle had disappeared, took it out on Dontos. “Fool! Where is my uncle? Where is the Imp?” Dontos, of course had no answer. Joffrey was seething. “Fine, you will take his place. You and that little wretch next to you. He will have the cup, you will care for the wine.”

Brienne saw that it was Aldo, the servant boy, that the king was pointing at. Aldo bowed low and retrieved the cup from where it lay. Dontos picked up nearest flagon of wine, and poured it clumsily into the cup Aldo held. For such a young boy, Aldo was quite adept at keeping up with the unsteadiness of the larger man. Nimbly, he followed behind the king, who took the cup without a second look at the boy. Joffrey set the cup down after a long drink, then took up his sword to cut into the pigeon pie, which was now placed where the dwarves had been acting out their play only minutes before. Brienne was astonished at how quickly the party had changed from light-hearted frivolity to the tense drama and back again.

Dozens of birds flew from the pie. Brienne gasped from the sight, it was quite impressive. Once all the birds had dispersed, Margaery fed a piece to Joffrey, grinning and gazing lovingly at him. He snapped his fingers for his goblet, little Aldo rushed forward with the cup.

“This pie is quite good, but a bit dry,” he said, flinging little bits of crust as he spoke. Gulping down the wine, he finished the goblet and tossed it back to Aldo. Brienne couldn’t help but be impressed with how the young boy was able to keep up with it all. Dontos had fallen out of step and was looking confused as he scanned the crowd, possibly looking for someone to rescue him. 

The king started coughing. Choking, actually, his face beginning to turn an interesting shade of blue. Brienne rose from her seat, unsure of what to do but moving forward to help in any way possible. She saw the members of the Kingsguard rush forward, Jaime in the middle of it all.  _His son, no, his king is dying before his eyes, yet again_ , she thought. Cersei was beside herself, screaming and crying for Joffrey. The boy’s face was leaning more towards purple, Brienne noted dully. It felt like everything was moving slower than normal, like this had happened before. Her body was moving on its own, her brain was desperately trying to keep up. She saw herself reach the trio of Lannisters and pull the king from his mother’s arms. Cersei screamed at her, something vulgar, but she wasn’t sure what. Turning him so that his back was to her, she wrapped her arms around the boy’s midsection, balled her hands together into a fist and with great force plunged that fist into the king’s stomach. He would likely have a bruise later, but for now, she did not care. Again, and once more, she did this, until a saliva covered piece of the pie was ejected from his mouth. Only then did she let go of him, both of them falling down to the ground. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, her brain finally catching up. The king was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath, his face returning to its normal pale complexion.

Cersei was crying still, but this time she was weeping with joy. She was squeezing the king so hard, Brienne thought he might turn blue again. Jaime, still kneeling, wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her forehead. “Well done, wench,” he whispered. “I daresay that earns you at least two dances now.”

She couldn’t help herself and laughed heartily as crowd began to cheer.


	63. Sansa: Purple Wedding, Part 5

Fear overwhelmed her as she saw Joffrey choking. Not fear for him, for he deserved such an unseemly ending, but fear for her sister. Arya, dressed as a boy named Aldo, had been seen giving Joffrey a cup of wine. Had he actually died, Sansa was sure that Cersei would have blamed it on Arya/Aldo. Arya looked shaken up by the event, to say the least.  _No, I should think of her as Aldo, lest I give away her true identity._

Joffrey had gone from blue to purple and was currently white from the terror of nearly dying, as pale as the moon.  _Fear looks good on him_ , she thought smugly. With the commotion over, the crowds had calmed down and were retaking their seats. Lord Tywin called for attention.

“Honored guests!” his voice rang out, “Come, let us have a toast, to our brave king!” He picked up a goblet and waited for the others to follow suit. “Come, Your Grace.”

Joffrey joined his grandfather on the dais, with Margaery at his side. He still looked a bit pale, but was regaining color. He picked up a wine cup from the nearby table as well.  _Aldo_ handed a cup to Margaery. Jaime lead Brienne back to their table.

Sansa smiled when she saw that Jaime had offered Brienne his arm and she had taken it. She couldn’t look him in the eye, but she was smiling shyly. He had a small smile on his lips as well, she noticed, when he looked at Brienne.  _Fledgling love_ , she thought happily.

“My Lady,” he said to Sansa, and then, “Brienne.” She gave him a slight nod before he left. 

Sansa must have been grinning widely, because Brienne took one look at her and asked, “What?”

“Oh! Nothing, nothing. I was just wondering...um...how did you know to do that thing to save the king? When you hugged him?” Sansa asked.

“Oh, a visiting maester taught it to me. He was on his way to his new post, and stopped in to visit the Maester Theom at my father’s home on the Isle of Tarth. I believe his name was Maester Heimlich. During his visit, my father choked on a piece of fish. Maester Heimlich saved him using that technique. He taught it to Theom, me and several others before he left to continue his journey.”

“Fascinating,” Sandor chimed in, “but you are missing the toast.” Sansa smacked his arm, but he only shrugged and nodded towards the front.

“--and thank the Seven that the King survived what would have been a most unfortunate accident. To the King!” Lord Tywin boomed out.

_Of course, no thanks to the one the Seven SENT to save the king_ , Sansa thought sadly. _Though Brienne doesn’t seem to mind, so I suppose I should let it go_. 

Everyone drank deeply. Sansa giggled when she saw some of Sandor’s wine dribble down the side of his face. Her head was feeling a bit light already, as she had been consuming the wine all evening, emboldening her actions. She pulled on his arm, causing him to lean towards her. She started at his chin and worked her way up, kissing and licking away the wine trail from the burned half of his face. She could hear a few gasps from behind her, but she didn’t care. Sandor, more used to the strong wine they had been drinking, was more sober than she, and looked a bit shocked, but he recovered quickly and kissed her nose in return.

“The little bird cannot hold her spirits very well. We’ll retire soon enough. Don’t pass out on me though, you never know what monstrous things I’ll do to you,” he growled playfully.

“Probably lay me gently down on the bed and sleep peacefully by my side all night. In the morning, you’ll love me good and  _proper_ , seeing as how you’re such a _dutiful_ husband,” she whispered conspiratorially. He grinned at her. 

“Aye, most likely.” Their cheerful banter was interrupted by shouts. “What the bloody hells is it now?” Sandor grumbled. Sansa turned to look. 

Lord Tywin was now on the ground, his body writhing in agony, his face twisted as he clamored for air. This wasn’t like before with Joffrey. Even Sansa could see that as plain as day. Maester Pycelle was trying to help, but the head of House Lannister was gone before anything could be done.

“ _Poison!_ ” was the outcry. Cersei was beside herself, collapsing into the arms of one of the Kingsguard. Sansa wasn’t entirely certain of the man’s name, but she was sure he was the one who had accompanied Sandor on the day she was married. Her husband stood up, and began to move forward. Sansa stood up as well to follow him, but a hand grasped her arm and pulled her back into the crowd. Before she could call out to him, another hand over her mouth silenced her.


	64. Sandor: Purple Wedding, Part 6

“Lady Sansa!” he heard Brienne shout. Turning, Sandor sought his wife. She had been at his side not even a moment ago. He searched the crowds, catching a brief glimpse of red hair.

“Brienne, stay with the kids, get them back to the chambers!” he ordered as he dove into the crowd to chase after his little bird.

_Where is she going? She wouldn’t leave on her own. If she went willingly with someone, she would have told you. What does that leave? Someone is attempting to kidnap her? But who? And why?_ His thoughts were flying as he ran. The garden led out to a court yard. No one was in sight.

Panic edged up, but he pushed it down.  _Calm yourself, fool. You know Sansa doesn’t want to leave you. She’s got her spirit back, she’ll fight them, whoever took her. Look around, maybe you’ll find evidence of a struggle_ .

The fact that no one was in the courtyard became a blessing. The dirt couldn’t have been disturbed by anyone but her and her kidnapper. He had learned how to track long ago, but this was the first time he had used it outside of a hunt.  _No, this is a hunt, my prey is the bastard who would steal MY little bird_ , he thought. Scanning the ground, he found what he was looking for. Drag marks, coming from the gardens and leading towards…  _The wall-walk! The one that leads to Mud Gate, the harbor! If she was kidnapped, that would be the fastest way out. Seven Hells! The sentries are light right now, and they’re not looking for people leaving._ He took off at a dead run, grateful he did not have his armor to weigh him down but sorely missing his sword. Sandor wished he could at least grab something from the armory but it was too far out of the way. The few soldiers he did pass recognized him, and let him be. It was only after he was out of sight of them that he realized he should have either borrowed one of their swords, or ordered them to come with him.

He skidded to a stop in front of the stairwell that led to the Mud Gate, his breath uneven and his chest heaving from the exertion. Opposite the stairwell, he had an excellent view of the harbor. He searched but did not see the flame of hair he was looking for. Two sentries on duty was walking towards him. He recognized the taller of the two as one of the men he sometimes sparred with, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember his name. “Evenin’, Lord Clegane. I would have expected you to still be at the wedding feast. What brings you down here?”

“Looking for someone. Has anyone come through here?” he said, trying to calm his breathing.

“Only the fool Dontos and another man. Big, burly guy, like yourself. They were carrying a rug over to the harbor. You looking for them?”

_Dontos_ , he thought murderously. He regretted that helping his little bird had also saved the man’s life. He regretted not gutting the fool when he found out about the escape he had promised Sansa. Most of all, he regretted not anticipating a move like this. His suspicion that Dontos was merely the messenger was confirmed. There was no way the fool would have the courage or the brains to do all this on his own.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, that's them. They took something that belongs to me. I aim to get it back. Jor, come with me. And you,” he pointed to the other, “get more men and follow us. Quick as possible. They're headed to the harbor.”

A look passed between the two, but they did as they were told. Sandor was glad he had finally remembered the man’s name as he and Jor Worthham descended the stairs. The sun had set but the last few orange and yellow rays illuminated the area enough that they were able to locate the men easily. The rug, and Sansa, were not anywhere in sight as they lounged on the deck of the ship. Dontos spotted them first. His eyes went wide in alarm. 

“The Hound!” he shrieked.

The other man, big and burly like Jor had said, turned. Sandor was surprised. “Lothor?”

“Sandor! What are you doing here?” The man grasped Sandor in a fierce hug.

“The better question is what are  _you_ doing here? And with this idiot?” he gestured towards Dontos, who was cowering next to the supplies waiting to be put into the cargo hold.

“A rescue. Taking back a hostage of the Lannisters, old friend. Some Northern lady.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes. “Where is she?”

Lothor Brune gave him a questioning look, but said, “She’s down below, speaking with my employer.”

“If you would take me to him, I’d like to speak to your employer as well.” Lothor nodded in agreement. “Jor, keep an eye on this one.” Dontos had sunk down to sit on the deck, clearly afraid of what Sandor would do to him. Jor moved closer to him, his sword at the ready. He was soon joined by five more of the Red Keep’s soldiers. Sandor motioned to Lothor, “Lead the way.”


	65. Arya: Purple Wedding, Part 7

Arya paced inside the front room of the Clegane’s chambers. Brienne sat patiently on the couch. Every so often, the younger girl would move to leave, but a simple “Child” from Brienne kept her there. 

“We should be out there looking for her!” Arya cried. Brienne shook her head.

“We must trust in Lord Clegane.”

_“That man couldn’t find a chicken in a hen house!”_

Bronn, who was sitting at the table playing cards with Shae, chimed in, “Don’t know about that, but I do know that he’s a damn fine soldier and persistent too. Plus, the sod is utterly devoted to Lady Sansa. He’ll tear King’s Landing apart to find her. Don’t you worry your little head about it.”

“Aldo, come sit with me.” Brienne patted the seat next to her. Arya complied grudgingly. “You are very loyal to Lady Sansa,” Brienne said quietly.

“Of course I am. She’s my--” Arya hesitated. She didn’t know how much Sansa had been able to tell Brienne. Her reunion with her sister had been unexpected, and the day had been busy, with little time to speak of private matters. “She’s my lady, I followed her from Winterfell.” It was the truth, though a skewed version.

“She is my lady as well, as was her mother.” Arya looked up at Brienne and noticed the woman’s jaw was clenched. “She was good to me. I would have followed her anywhere. She understood me in a way that I didn’t think anyone could. When I heard about her death, a part of my heart withered. No tears I shed nor blood I spill will ever bring her back. Helping her daughters is the only thing I can do right now to keep preserve her memory. One day, I will see her again in the afterlife, and I need to be able to look her in the eye and tell her that I protected them.”

“And you will do nothing to avenge her?” Arya asked quietly.

Brienne gave her a lifeless smile. “I would gladly put a sword through Walder Frey’s belly, but that won’t help Lady Sansa or Lady Arya. All I want now is to fulfill my oath to Lady Catelyn and my vow to Renly. Both will require patience.”

“What about the Lannisters?”

Brienne looked at her with confusion, “What about them?”

“They were also responsible for the deaths of Lord and Lady Stark. They’re here. Why not take a chance and kill them?”

“While it is tempting, I do not want to make martyrs of them either. It would take someone of far more stealth and finesse to do the job. I am a soldier, not an assassin. And not all of the Lannisters can be held accountable.” Arya saw the woman’s expression soften. She wondered if she was thinking about Jamie Lannister. She had seen them holding hands earlier, but no one had mentioned a relationship between the two.

“The only good Lannister is a _dead_ Lannister.”

Brienne chuckled, “So cynical for so young. Only Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey can be held accountable for grievances against the Starks, and the rest of the kingdoms. Tyrion Lannister has been making a good effort to pay back the debt his family owes to Lady Sansa. Kevan Lannister is a good man, from what I understand. His only fault is following his older brother. And Jaime…” she looked thoughtful. “Jaime Lannister is not what everyone believes him to be. At least, not all of it.”

“What would you do? If you were in the Starks’ boots?” Arya asked.

“I would confront them. Challenge them. And likely lose my life, but I would take as many of them down with me as possible. As I said, I am a soldier, not an assassin. Lady Sansa is not a soldier, nor an assassin, and has too much to lose if she did such a thing.”

“What about Lady Arya?” the younger Stark asked. “Would she be able to do it?”

Brienne considered this. “Lady Arya...I’ve never met her, but Lady Catelyn spoke of her often. Of all of her children actually. Lady Sansa has spoken a little of her, but I haven’t been in her service for very long. From what I understand, Lady Arya might be able to do it. She’s headstrong, daring, and sneaky. If she is able to take a life, she would be able to take the Lannisters lives, or at least would stand a better chance of being an assassin than her sister.”

Arya fell back against the pillows of the couch. “I think she could do it too.”


	66. Sansa: Mockingbirds Sing Ever So Sweetly

She breathed deeply as the rug was unrolled from around her. She had never before suffered from a fear of small spaces, but that was not an experience she wanted to repeat. 

After being pulled away from Sandor, she had been found herself being dragged along by Dontos. The spectacle caused by Lord Tywin’s death had been the perfect distraction. The crowd around her didn’t even look at her once. She tried to pull her wrist from Dontos’ grip, tried to scream for help, but his hold on her was more than she had imagined he was capable of. They entered one of the smaller courtyards, and finally he removed his hand from her mouth. She opened it to scream for Sandor, knowing he couldn’t have been that far behind her, but she was gagged before she could utter a single sound. Strong hand gripped her as Dontos struggled to pull out an old rug.

“Quickly! Someone might come,” Dontos urged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He gave her an apologetic smile before she was wrapped in darkness.

Now that she was free of the rug prison, she tried to take in her surroundings. Dontos and the other man were exiting the room she had been left in. She was dizzy from being carted like luggage, and took a moment to let her mind settle. A cloying perfume wafted to her nose and the gag was gently pulled away.

“Forgive me, my lady, for the manner of your arrival, but it was necessary for your protection,” a familiar voice spoke and her heart sank. 

She turned to face her kidnapper as he offered her a hand to help her up, “Lord Baelish. This is a surprise. I thought you were in the Vale?” 

“I’m on my way there, now that I have you in my protective custody.” He smiled his greasy smile. Sansa shivered involuntarily in revulsion. Fortunately, he misinterpreted it. “Are you cold, my lady? Allow me to fetch you a robe. The air around the ocean is generally cooler than in the Keep. Ah, here we go.” He handed her a thick, richly embroidered black robe. She accepted it, but did not put it on.

“Lord Baelish, why am I here?”

“You are being rescued, sweetling. And please, call me Petyr. Your mother and I were so close. If her father had allowed it, we would have married. You could have been my daughter.” He placed a hand on both of her shoulders. “I owe it to Cat, and to you, to take you from this place. To save you from that monster they married you to. I arranged for all of it. It was I who sent Dontos to you in the first place.”

Sansa eyed him warily from under thick lashes. She had heard the rumors about Baelish and her mother. She knew they were false. Her mother had been devoted to Brandon Stark, and when he was murdered, had acquiesced herself to marrying Eddard Stark, eventually finding love with him. Her morals and devotion would not have allowed her to lay with a man who was not her husband, no matter how good a friend he was to her. Sandor had once commented that it was more likely that Baelish, or “Littlefucker” as he liked to call him, was bragging to things he had only wished for. 

_Wait, he arranged for everything? Then, Lord Tywin is dead...because of me? But how, WHY?_ She felt ill, but somehow managed to maintain her composure. 

“How?” she found herself asking.

“Can you guess?” he asked. She shook her head. “Come now, Sansa, did no one come to straighten the hairnet after a particularly strong wind?” No one had since she hadn’t worn it, but she pretended to remember, let her eyes go wide in surprise.

He smiled, proud of her for supposedly figuring it out. “It was the gems in the hairnet. Not amythysts at all, but crystallized poison. Slip one into the wine and poof, it dissolves and the wine becomes a death sentence. It takes a few minutes to take effect, but once it does, there is no saving the drinker.”

_But I got rid of it! I left it in the godswood...Lady Olenna!_ The memory of the old woman grasping the hand that held the hairnet came back to her. She had been wearing it underneath her long sleeves, around her wrist like a bracelet, in order to hide it from prying eyes. “But why did you kill him? He had been good to you.”

Baelish merely said, “Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you. Remember that, Sansa, when you come to play the game.”

Changing the subject, she said, “I did not ask for a rescue. My lord husband--”

“Sweetling, you do not need to tell me false. I’ve seen how his brother treated his wives. The Hound may not have raised a hand to you yet, but to not believe for an instant that it would last. The blood does not lie.”

She frowned, a small one that he didn’t really notice.  _Does he actually believe that? Or is he trying to poison me against Sandor?_ She decided it didn’t matter, either way it meant that he would not be likely to release her back to her husband.  _It would be best to play along, at least for the moment. Look for an opportunity_ . Making a show of smoothing her skirt, she felt for the dagger Sandor had presented to her. Shae had shown her how to strap it to her thigh so it was hidden, yet easily accessible, and not in her way. She had been reluctant to wear it on the day of the king’s wedding, but now was glad Shae had insisted. While she couldn’t use it with the same skill as her mysterious handmaiden, it was a comfort to have it, just in case.  _And as a reminder of Sandor. He will come for me. I know it, but I cannot remain idle. The Seven helps those who help themselves. Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone and...and Stranger. Watch over my husband and me_ , she prayed. A calm settled over her.

Looking back up at Baelish, she asked, “And what do you want of me, my lord?”

“Nothing, except your safety, of course. Once we reach the Eyrie, I will be wedded to your aunt. She will provide you with a place to stay, keep you hidden until it is safe for you to return to your place in Winterfell. Once that happens, we will have your marriage to the Hound annulled. You need a husband that has the strength to rebuild your home, to inspire confidence in your bannermen. It may take a few years, but,” he squeezed her shoulders, “I will protect you during that time. He will never find you, never be able to hurt you.”

She smiled at him, but it was empty. Inside, her heart felt like it was in a vice. She tried to think of something, anything, to make him change his mind, or at least open up an opportunity to escape.  _I will NOT wait years to be rescued_ . “My lord, thank you for your consideration.” She swallowed the bitterness as she continued, “I’m sure my lady mother would be grateful to you, but the Hound, he is...attached to me. He will not rest until he finds me. I would not want you to be in danger, since you were such good friends with Mother.”

Baelish smiled his greasy smile again. “Never fear, sweetling. He is tough and temperamental, but not very smart. He will not be able to follow us.”

“But if he did, he would kill you.” Sansa looked at him innocently, “He is quite protective of me, you know. And like you said, he has a temper. He does not like it when people take what belongs to him.” She said it very matter-of-fact, staring straight into Baelish’s eyes as she said it. She felt a twinge of victory as her words sank in and his smile faded.

“Yes, well, he has to find you first.” A knock on the door kept them from further conversation. Baelish walked over to it, “Yes? What is it?”

A deep voice came through the door, “My lord, a word?”

“Oh, yes, come in Lothor.” He turned back to Sansa. “Sansa,” she bristled slightly at his familiarity but he continued, “I would like you to meet Lothor Bru--”

“Sandor!” she cried out happily as her husband entered behind the other man. Her feeling of victory increased at the look of panic on Baelish’s face, before he turned around to see her husband reaching for him.

Baelish squeaked as Sandor grasped the smaller man's impeccable robe and lifted him a few inches off the ground. “Are you alright, wife?” he rasped. She bounded over to him, hugging him as he slipped his free arm around her waist.

“Much better now that you’re here. I was afraid you wouldn’t find me,” she said meekly.

“I will always find you.” He smiled at her. “And now for you, Littlefucker. Did you really think you could get away with kidnapping my wife?”

“A little help, Brune?” Baelish asked, struggling a little to breathe. Sansa looked over at the other man in the room.  _He must be Lothor Brune_ .

The man shrugged. “Sorry, my lord. When I agreed to help you, I didn’t know we were taking the wife of the Hound.”

“Why does that matter? Just do something!” Baelish exclaimed.

Lothor shook his head. “My lord, even if it was his worst day and my best, I cannot beat the Hound. In addition to that, he’s well within his rights to kill you if it so pleases him. If he wants to take his wife back, I’m not about to stop him.”

“Why did you take her?” Sandor asked Baelish. “Answer carefully, Littlefucker.”

“He’ll know if you lie, my lord,” Sansa said sweetly as she clung to Sandor’s side. “He always knows. And he doesn’t like it when people lie to him. They tend to live longer if they’re honest.”

Baelish’s eyes went wide. “Alright, alright, but let me down first. This position is hardly conducive to a civil conversation.”

Sandor let go, causing Baelish to fall and stumble. He righted himself, brushing off and straightening his robe.

“I was merely trying to help the girl. She is Cat’s daughter, after all. I owe it to her. If you care for her at all, you will let her come with me. She will be safe in the Vale.” Baelish looked up at Sandor. “I can protect her there.”

“Lysa Tully doesn’t even know her. What’s more, the woman isn’t quite right in the head. No, my wife stays with me.”  

Baelish frowned. “Have you considered asking your wife what she wants to do?” Sansa raised an eyebrow, finding it ridiculous that he was raising that point when he himself had not been listening to her or asking her opinion. 

“Well, wife? What do you want to do?” Sandor asked casually. Sansa smiled shyly at him. She had a carefully thought out answer, and only hoped that Sandor would listen to it all and not jump to the wrong conclusion.

Taking his hand in both of hers, she answered, “I want to go home.”

She could practically feel the radiance of Baelish’s smile as she saw Sandor’s frown. “You see, Hound? And the best way for her to get home is with me. Now, if you would be so kind--”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” Sansa said, turning to Baelish with a devilish grin. “Home is wherever my lord husband is. He resides in King’s Landing, and so must I. But again, I thank you for your kind offer. Were my lady mother still alive, I am sure she would be  _most interested_ in your plans for me.” She batted her eyes demurely at Baelish, satisfied to see his jaw clench and the vein in his forehead throbbing with frustration. When he wasn’t all smiles, he was quite easy to read, she noticed.

“Then you  _both_ ,” Baelish spat out the word with much distaste, “are welcome to come with me. I’m sure I can convince the captain to take on one more passenger.”

_And you would probably try to get rid of Sandor one way or the other during the journey_ . Sansa forced herself to smile, “We cannot, my lord. My lord husband has duties to attend to, as do I. We do not have the luxury of just leaving our entire household behind. Too many questions would be raised.” She cast her eyes down, hoping she looked meek and afraid, trying to remember how she had once held herself when subjected to Joffrey's wrath. Lowering her voice to barely above a whisper, she said, “You have been a good friend to my mother, my lord. I would not want to see you get into trouble with the crown on my or my husband’s behalf.”

“In trouble?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, my lord. I was a little stupid,” she trembled her voice.  _Think sad thoughts! Think sad thoughts! He wants to separate you from Sandor!_ She couldn’t stop the tears then, even if she wanted to.  _Please let this work!_ “I spoke highly of you in court.” She had done no such thing, but he saw him puff up a little at hearing that. “And I spoke of your friendship with my mother. If I go missing, the first thing they will do is look for me….” she cast her tearful eyes up to his face, making herself feign terror, “and they will look to you first. Who else would help me? I have no friends, outside of you.” She cast her eyes down again. 

“But why would they look for you, sweetling?” he asked. 

She felt Sandor growl, tried to reassure him through touch alone, but could not break the tentative hold she had on Baelish. She pressed her advantage, willing her voice to break, as if this was the most difficult thing she had ever endured.  _You have survived far worse, you are stronger than you look_ .  “W-why wouldn’t they look for me? A man is  _dead_ , p-poisoned in the middle of his toast at  _the_ wedding feast of the century, they will look for the culprit, and only the guilty run.”

Baelish said nothing, and she dared not look at him for fear that he discover her amateur attempt for what it was.  _Let him believe, please, just let him believe!_ She sniffled once for effect, never looking up.  _Oh gods, he doesn’t believe me, does he?_

“She’s right, my lord,” she heard the other man say. “It would be best to allow them to return.”

She allowed herself the smallest of glances, not even looking directly at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Baelish scrunch his mouth into a frown.

“Come, wife. We’re going home,” Sandor said quietly and lead her out of the cabin. She thanked each and every god, and vowed to hold a sigil at the godswood when there was no voice calling out to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> Just FYI, I'm going out of town this weekend. I'm going to pre-post chapters in advance so all I have to do is log in and click on "Post Chapter" everyday. That being said, I'm not sure how reliable my internet connection will be, so if I skip a day, please know that it was not by choice. Also, I am super proud of a Tyrion chapter I just finished, and I can't wait to share it with you and omg it's like forever away, I try to stay at least 10 chapters ahead of what I post daily, but it sometimes varies and I may have drunk too much caffeinated drinks before writing this post... :D


	67. Tyrion: Help, I Need Somebody

Complete and utter chaos ruled the evening. He wondered later on how he was able to keep his calm after seeing his father die right in front of him. Jaime had only hidden him, not taken him completely away after Dontos had fallen on him. Cersei had been screaming something, he wasn’t sure what, as the poison took their father’s last breath. Grand Maester Pycelle said it was called The Strangler. There was no known antidote for it. He assumed it was the grief speaking when Cersei ordered the guards to arrest him. There was no possible way he could have killed his father. He had never touched any of the wine cups except his own. Even the one Joffrey had ordered him to carry hadn’t been graced with his stubby fingers.

_If the poison was in the wine after all_ , he thought darkly. He was currently locked in a musty and slightly stinky cell at the top of one of the towers. There was no locked door, but the tower held little else besides where he was staying, the spiraling staircase that led up to it, and the two soldiers standing guard at the base of the tower.  _Or maybe it’s only one soldier, since I’m not exactly a high risk prisoner_. The rushes didn’t look like they had been changed in quite a while, which explained the mustiness. There was a pallet that looked like it had seen better days, a few chairs for whoever decided to visit him, and a desk with blank papers, a quill and an inkpot.  _To write my confession, I suppose._

“Bucket to the right is water, bucket to the left is for making water. They get changed out once a day and only once. Don’t get them mixed up,” the guard had said. At least he had the decency to tell him that. Others would have let him figure it out on his own, or even told him wrongly. Even more, his tower prison cell had a small window through which, if he sat in just the right spot, a nice refreshing breeze could be felt. He wasn’t certain which was worse, this musty cell or the open walled cell in the Eyrie.  _They both have their advantages and disadvantages. Is is strange that I am not upset about being locked up? I know I did not kill Father, though I had every reason to. At least Shae is safe and cannot see what has become of her Tyrion. Ah, Shae, if only I had been able to have one more day with you._ He fell asleep on the threadbare pallet dreaming of Shae, the wind blowing through her hair and the sun shining down on her lovely tanned skin, sailing to the Free Cities with a smile on her face.

The sun woke him the next morning, but he did not rise until he heard footsteps coming towards his cell. He was surprised to see his Uncle Kevan and Jaime appear. 

“Nephew, you look well, considering.”

“I have stayed in worse places, though not many. What brings you to my new home, uncle?” Tyrion asked. 

Kevan’s brow furrowed. “Did you kill your father?”

“No, I did not.” He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that Kevan relaxed considerably. Jaime merely grinned. He had confidence in his little brother’s innocence and seeing it warmed Tyrion’s heart.

“The gods know you had reason to though. Our dear sister is determined to see you tried,” Jaime said gently. 

“She’ll bring up that woman you married. Drag you both through the mud.” Kevan sighed heavily. He was the younger brother, but Tyrion felt like the man had aged at least fifty years since he had seen him yesterday.

“I could always demand a trial by combat. No need for interrogations then.”

Kevan grimaced. “I would not advise that.”

“Why not? It worked for me in the Vale.”

“Cersei knows about that, and has stated that if you should choose trial by combat, she will name Gregor Clegane as her champion.” Tyrion’s heart sank.

“She’s put forth several witnesses, even swears she found Tysha,” Jaime said with an apology. 

Tyrion feels his heart skip a beat and his mouth is suddenly very dry. “And...is it her?”

“I’m sorry, little brother, but I haven’t seen the woman. I wouldn’t put much stock in it. Cersei never met her, no portraits were ever done of her, and it seems more than a little convenient that she was able to find her so quickly after Father passed away unexpectedly.”

Tyrion let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes, of course, you’re right. I should think of witnesses to call as well.”

“Your squire will continue to serve you. We will send him up later today. You can have him contact anyone you can think of to speak on your behalf. Is there anyone else you can think of right now that you’d like to speak with?” Kevan asked.

“If I may speak with Jaime for a few moments, Uncle?”

“Of course. I’ll be on my way then. Send your squire if you have need of me, Tyrion.” The two brothers waited until their uncle’s footsteps could no longer be heard. Jaime sat down in one of the available chairs.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be my champion,” Tyrion said with a half-hearted smile.

“If I had my hand back, or had more confidence in my left hand, I would in an instant.” Jaime still looked apologetic.

“I know, and I appreciate the sentiment. At least you and Kevan believe me.”

“You have a few more backers. Bronn believes in you, too. Says that poison is not your style. Nor murder, which I have to agree with. Brienne stands with you as well, though Cersei’s after her too, so I’m not sure how much help she’ll be.”

Tyrion chuckled. “Any help at all is welcome.”

“Then you’ll love what I’ve come to tell you,” a voice rasped.


	68. Sandor: Help Not Just Anybody

He wasn’t sure what to think of his little bird’s display. They had walked wordlessly back to the deck. His friend Lothor was behind them, though it looked like Littlefucker had stayed behind.

“Jor, bring the fool. I got what I came for,” Sandor said as he headed towards the walkway that connected to the dock.

“No, please! Hound, forgive me! I was only--” Dontos wailed.

“Someone shut him up! I won’t be hearing his excuses,” Sandor snarled. He didn’t look to see if anyone did, but Dontos didn’t utter another sound after that.

They reached the Red Keep easily enough. “Jor, take the fool to a cell. Let the guards know I’ll deal with him tomorrow. I’ll have to figure out a way to thank you all as well.”

“No need, my lord. We were only doing our jobs.”

“As you say. Have a good night, Jor.”

The hour was late and Sansa was nodding off as they walked. After the second time her head drooped, only to snap up immediately, Sandor sighed and, smiling to himself, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms. She made a content noise and snuggled happily against him. 

**********

He woke up mid-morning. Sansa was still asleep, which he had expected, considering everything she had gone through the day before. She moaned unhappily as he left the bed. Kissing her forehead, he whispered that he would return as soon as possible, leaving her with a small smile on her lips.

He dressed quickly and went out into the main room of their chambers. He was surprised that nearly everyone was also already awake, considering they had been waiting up for Sansa and him last night. He had given them a short version of what had happened before taking Sansa to bed. 

Brienne was standing by the door, acting as sentry. His goodsister stood with her, having a private conversation with the tall blonde. Saul and Gar stood with them as well, though they did more listening than speaking. Bronn had fallen asleep in one of the chairs and Shae was happily counting the coins she had won from the sellsword the day before. He wondered briefly on the still missing handmaiden, but dismissed it for the time being. He had more important worries.

“Saul, with me. The rest of you, try to stay here unless it’s absolutely necessary to leave. Sansa is still sleeping. Shae, you and Aldo will attend to her when she wakes. Best that you stay in there with her actually, in case anyone stops by. You’re not supposed to be here after all.”

“And if she asks where you went, my lord?” Brienne asked.

“To deal with a fool and a lovestruck fool.”

**********

Dontos was easily dealt with. He was spilling his secrets before Sandor even had a chance to ask. He was disgusted by the fool’s eagerness to redeem himself, as he was only digging his grave deeper.  _He would have betrayed my little bird if the Lannisters had caught him instead of me_. The look on Saul’s face showed that he was appalled by the fool’s idiocy as well.

“That man is a knight?” he asked as they left Dontos.

Sandor snorted. “Was. He was stripped of his knighthood at the king’s nameday tournament. Would have lost his life, too. Became Moonboy’s partner instead.”

“I didn’t think the king would grant such a mercy to one like him.” Sandor smiled. The boy, whether realizing it or not, was beginning to speak like Sansa.  _She’s a good influence on him_. 

“He didn’t, not really. Your lady convinced him it would be better to dress him in motley than kill him outright. She saved the fool’s life, and he squandered his second chance by drinking it away.”  _Like you could have, buggering fool_ . He pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to consider where he would be if Sansa had not rescued him.  _On the run from Lannisters, hiding your ugly recognizable face at every turn, probably dying on the side of the road because you were too drunk to defend against some lackwit with a knife_ , the annoying voice continued. He growled, startling a passing maid into a faster pace. Saul made no comment.

They reached the tower where Tyrion was being held. Kevan Lannister was speaking to the guard at the entrance.

“Good morrow, Lord Clegane!” Kevan called out. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve come to speak to your nephew. Is he allowed visitors?”

“Limited, but you’re welcome to speak to him. Jaime is up with him now, if you’d like to wait,” Kevan said.

“He’ll probably want Jaime to hear what I have to say as well. If you’ll excuse me?” Kevan and the guard moved aside to allow him entrance. There was a waiting area in the base of the tower, if you could call it that. A small table and four rickety-looking chairs occupied the space. 

“Shall I remain here, my lord?” Saul asked.

“Yes. Let me know if anyone else comes in after me.” Sandor started the long trek up the stairs. He paused at the top to catch his breath, and overheard some of the Lannister brothers’ conversation.

“--Brienne stands with you as well, though Cersei’s after her, too, so I’m not sure how much help she’ll be.”

A chuckle. “Any help at all is welcome,” he heard Tyrion say.

“Then you’ll love what I’ve come to tell you,” Sandor chimed in as he revealed his presence. 

“Hound! Good to see you. Where did you and your lovely wife disappear to last night? You missed all the excitement.” Jaime was all smiles, but Sandor saw the dark circles under his eyes.

“Calm your teats, Kingslayer. That’s actually the reason I’ve come.” He pulled up a chair to sit with the other two men. “Sansa and I did not leave early by choice. It seems that your father’s death was also a distraction for a much more minor crime. Dontos, the former knight turned fool, kidnapped my wife during the commotion, and delivered her to Lord Petyr Baelish.”

“Baelish? But he’s in the Vale.” Tyrion frowned. Sandor shook his head.

“He was in the harbor as of last night. Probably sailed off at the first chance though. No one except Dontos, Sansa and I saw him. He could easily have several dozen people swear that he’s been in the Vale the entire time he was supposed to be.”

“Did he say he was behind our father’s murder?” Jaime asked.

“Not to me. You can ask Sansa, she was with him longer.”

“But why would he kill Father? He owes a lot to him,” Tyrion said.

“I think you should know by now, little brother, Baelish does whatever suits his needs, whether it’s against his enemies or his allies. The bigger question is  _how_ does it help him, now that Father is dead?”

“And why take Sansa?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime scoffed. “It’s no mystery why he was trying to take Sansa. The entire court knows of his obsession with her mother, and Sansa looks more and more like her every day.”

“He was trying to convince her to leave with him, even to the point of offering to take me as well. She handled herself pretty well against him, made him believe that if she disappeared, he would be the first place people would look,” Sandor said quietly.

“You don’t seem to happy about that,” Tyrion noted.

Sandor growled. The Imp was too observant. “I’m glad we were able to walk away without a fight. She would have been in the thick of it, if it had come down to that.”

“But?” Tyrion pressed.

“Why do you care, Imp?”

“Because, I’ve grown quite fond of her, and of you, and you seem distressed over something that should be good. If anything else, it would be a welcome distraction from my current predicament.”

Sandor clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to storm off, but a smaller, newer part wanted to speak of his worry. He had worked for the Lannisters for more than half his life, but it wasn’t until recently that he began to think of these two as something other than annoying. Almost as if they were friends.

“Fine. It’s stupid anyway. I just don’t like that she was able to fool him. Yes, it enabled us to leave without fighting, but at the same time, one of the things that I first liked about her was her innocence, her inability to be like all the liars here in the capital. And last night…”

“She went toe to toe with one of the greatest liars in all the seven kingdoms, and somehow won,” Tyrion finished for him. Sandor nodded. Tyrion sighed, “I see what you mean. That is distressing. But, think of it this way: she wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for you.” Sandor frowned, but Tyrion only chuckled and continued, “I don’t mean that in a bad way. She wanted to get  _you_ away from Baelish, she wanted to be able to leave with  _you_ , to protect  _you_ . She did what she had to do, the same as you had the situation been reversed. Her method is just different from yours, that’s all.”

“It’s actually admirable,” Jaime said. “I’ve never had a woman do something like that for me.”

“Nor I,” said Tyrion.

Sandor snorted and crossed his arms over his broad chest, “That’s because Cersei is a selfish bitch who uses her body to get what she wants, and Shae never got the chance.”

Jaime was about to protest when Tyrion interrupted, “He’s right, big brother. Our sister thinks only herself, and I never got far enough with Shae to give her a chance. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to make it up to her, but for the moment, I am just glad that she’s safe and far away from Cersei.” Jaime nodded, but Sandor wasn’t sure if his mind was still in the conversation. The Kingslayer seemed to be deep in thought.

“Well, I should be getting back. Come by later to speak to Sansa, Kingslayer. Maybe she can shed some more light on things. I know she will want to help the Imp if she is able to.” Sandor rose from the chair.

“Hound,” called out Tyrion.

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Sandor grunted and left. He was halfway down the stairwell when he heard Jaime call out to him. “Clegane, wait up!” He stood there as Jaime trotted noisily down the steps. “I have a question for you, separate from the matter of my brother.”

“What is it?” Sandor crossed his arms over his chest. He was impatient to get back.

“You said, ‘Cersei uses her body to get what she wants’. What do you mean?” Jaime stood a few steps above Sandor, but that only made their eye levels even. Sandor sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his head nervously. He hadn’t realized exactly what he had said until just now.

“Do you really want to know?” Jaime nodded. Sandor sighed again, “I was Cersei’s sworn shield for a long time, as you remember, and even after becoming Joffrey’s shield, I was still in her presence a lot. Cersei...she would use sex to hold power over others, either by delivering it, or offering promises of it. She had a lot of lovers over the years. You were just one of many.” 

“You knew about us?” Jaime asked softly.

“As I said, I was around her a lot.”

“And were you ever…” he couldn’t finish his question. 

Sandor snorted. “No, she never offered, and I wouldn’t have taken it if she had.” He looked at Jaime and regretted that he had told him. Not because he wanted to protect Cersei’s secret, but because Jaime looked as if his heart was breaking, and he felt bad that he had been the one to deliver the news. “I’m sorry, Jaime. I wish I could say differently.”

“Why did you not say anything before?” he asked. He looked broken, first his brother, then his sister/love of his life.

“It did not occur to me that you did not know, and even if it did, would you have believed me?” Sandor pointed out. Jaime shook his head. “Why don’t you come with me? It is nearly lunch time, and I’m sure my lady wife would love for you to join us.” 

Jaime looked as if he was about to decline, but he looked into Sandor’s eyes, and seeing something there, said, “I think I would like that as well.”


	69. Davos: For the Good of the Realm

The old smuggler stood next to the Painted Table, his shadow falling across it like a sword. He heard the approaching footsteps, and a moment later the voices of the king and his witch woman.

“--is not three.”

“It should have been three, but it has changed. A fire within the fire changed it!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know how, but it did.”

“A fire within a fire? Do you realize how ludicrous that sounds?” the king asked.

“I know how it sounds, but it’s true. Before, I saw him die, his mother wailing as she held his corpse. Now…” the witch stopped when she saw Davos. The king continued towards him.

“What brings you here, Davos?” Stannis asked.

“Your grace, news from King’s Landing. Lord Tywin is dead. Poisoned, supposedly by his son, the Imp.” 

“How did you come by this report?” he asked with a frown.

“The Lyseni still trade at King’s Landing. Salladhor Saan has no reason to lie to me.”

“So the bastard of incest still sits on the throne,” the king said with contempt.

Melisandre went to him, “It should have been three. Give me the boy, I will make it so.”

“His name is Edric Storm,” Davos growled at her.

“Spare me your reproaches!” Stannis glared at him. “I like this no more than you do, but I have a duty to the kingdom.” He turned to face the witch woman. “Do you swear that there is no other way? Swear on your life, for I promise that if he should die in vain, you will follow him.”

Davos watched the woman. She did not back down, did not falter at the threat. “Your grace, you are the prophesied one, the one who must stand against the Other. Give me the boy, and I will give you your kingdom,” she purred.

“He can’t,” Davos interjected. “Edric Storm is gone.”

“Traitor!” hissed Melisandre. “Have you no loyalty?”

The king concurred, “I raised you up from dirt. Is loyalty too much to ask for?”

“Four of my sons died for you on the Blackwater. I could have died, too. I do not pretend to know or understand everything, but I do know that to burn that boy would do your cause more harm than good. You asked me for my honest counsel and you shall have it. If I offend, I will gladly offer my head, but I will die as I live, a man loyal to you, King Stannis.”

“You think you have a better plan, onion knight?” Melisandre asked with scorn.

“If you do, speak quickly,” said Stannis, drawing out Lightbringer.

Davos fumbled for the parchment he was carrying. “The princess has been teaching me to read, Your Grace,” he said, smoothing out the crinkled paper and began to read aloud.


	70. Brienne: Return

Aldo brought her a skin of water when she took a short break from training. The Hound had relented to letting Brienne leave for that, since he still had his duties to attend to. Bronn had sworn to watch the ones that stayed behind. Tyrion had ordered his squire Podrick Payne to continue paying Bronn for his services, though it was now to protect Lady Clegane. 

Brienne had wondered how the man was able to do so, when he sat in prison and should have been denied access to his family’s wealth. She had asked Jaime, who had been more than happy to explain. Not one to completely rely on a man who hated him, Tyrion had taken the money given to him by his father and invested it. He had been quite good at it, and while it was nowhere near the amount Lannisters were known for, he was still a very rich man. Their father never knew of it, which was how he preferred it, and Tyrion kept on using his father’s money to whore and drink his way through the Seven Kingdoms, but kept a portion of it to add to his funds. Tyrion had assigned his brother as an executor of his money, should anything happen to him.  Finding yourself locked away for a crime you did not commit would definitely fit that category , she thought.

Aldo had offered to go with them, stating that he would go stark raving mad if he had to be holed up with “that mouthy sellsword for even one more instant.” Brienne knew what he meant, though her reason for needing to be outside wasn’t exactly the same. It was Shae’s false chipperness that Brienne needed a break from. The woman was struggling with wanting to go to Tyrion to comfort him, and not wanting to worry him that she had stayed in King’s Landing after all. She was putting up a brave face for those around her, but Brienne could see through it. Sansa did as well, but she was better able to deal with the handmaiden.

Sansa had taken Brienne and Shae aside to inform them of Aldo’s true identity, but had insisted that for the time being to still treat Arya as Aldo. It wasn’t as much of a stretch as Brienne had anticipated, but she did have to make a concerted effort to not refer to her as Arya or “her” in her mind, lest she accidently say either out loud. 

“My lady,” Aldo said, “Do you think Lord Sandor would allow me to join the other trainees? I want to ask him, but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea or not.”

Brienne sipped from the skin. “Well, he knows of your nature, and as long as you are honest about why you wish to join, I see no reason he would deny you.” Aldo nodded. Brienne continued, “But you knew that already. What do you really wish to ask of me?”

Aldo looked around, making sure no one else was close enough to hear. “I had a dream last night. I always dream about the same thing lately. I’m running with a wolf pack, a huge pack, dozens upon dozens of wolves, and I’m the lead wolf, bigger and tougher than any other. But last night…” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, “last night it changed. I was running next to a river, the pack following me as usual, when we came upon dead men. Loads of dead men, rotting for days. They bore the sigil of King Robb. And then I smelled something familiar. A woman’s scent. She smelled like home. I picked my way through the field of corpses, and I found her. She was barely alive, starving and unable to drink the tainted river water. I pulled her from the river with my teeth to a nearby pool that was unaffected by the dead men’s stink. More men approached, and I had to flee from her, if I did not want to be found by the men. That’s when I woke up.”

“That’s a very vivid dream,” Brienne said. “Why does it concern you so?”

“Because, the woman I found, was Catelyn Stark.”


	71. Tyrion: A Horse of a Different Color

“Little brother, have you got your list of witnesses?” Jaime asked.

“I’m not sure how much good it will do me, but yes.” He handed over the paltry list of names.

“Lord and Lady Clegane, Dontos, Varys, Bronn and myself. You sure you want to trust the eunuch? Cersei has him on her list as well.”

“He can at least verify that while I complained about Father, I never made any remarks about killing him. If it had been Joffrey or even Cersei that had died instead, this would be a very different story.”

“You threatened the king and queen regent?” Jaime asked, surprised.

“Some of the things I’ve said to both Cersei and Joffrey could be construed as death threats. To be fair, they were both being stupid and my temper was not in the best condition either time,” he confessed.

“You will tell me about this later?” Jaime asked. Tyrion nodded.

**********

That evening, he was visited once more.

“Lord Tyrion! What a delightful chamber they have given you.” Tyrion looked up to see the Red Viper standing before him.

“Prince Oberyn, I’m surprised to see you here. Are you not a judge in my trial? This could be seen as highly conspiratorial.” He only half meant it. He had rather enjoyed speaking to Oberyn before this, and truth be told, was glad to see him again. “What brings you here?”

“Did you kill Lord Tywin? I am sad to say that I do not know you well enough to be able to answer the question myself.”

Tyrion gave him a half-grin. “I believe that is what the trial will be for.”

The prince crossed his arms over his chest. “Indulge me. I would like to hear it straight from you.”

Tyrion shrugged, looked Oberyn straight in the eyes and said, “No, I did not kill my father.”

Oberyn grinned. “I did not think so. So, I can only assume that the parade of witness that speak against you will all be lying?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Or telling half-truths. I haven’t heard what they will say yet, so I cannot be certain.”

“Do you know who might have actually done it? I would very much like to have a word with them.”

“Sadly, I do not,” Tyrion sighed. “Or, at least, I can’t prove it was them. Second hand story, you see, and even if it was true, this person had no reason to do it, so who would believe it?”

Oberyn considered this. “Who told you the story?”

“Sandor Clegane.”

“Hmm, I still have yet to speak to the man. We exchanged pleasantries at the wedding, but were unable to speak of more serious matters.” The prince stood up. “I will bid you good night. I do not want to be late for the bedding ceremony.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Tyrion asked, thoroughly confused. “Shouldn’t that have been taken care of last night? Despite all the...you know.” He pantomimed choking.

Oberyn laughed. “I see that you did not hear. It seems that the king was poisoned as well, though to a much lesser degree. Food poisoning. He was stuck in his privy all night long. The new queen had to stay in her old chambers, the smell alone was so bad that it could have peeled the skin from a melon.” He waved as he left Tyrion to his thoughts.


	72. Sansa: Take Back The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Trying not to give any spoilers, but it's difficult. Tread lightly, the trigger content will be in bold font.
> 
> **********

Sandor was out when Ser Meryn came for her. Arya had just finished telling her the details of her journey across Westeros. Brienne was there, but neither she nor Sansa could defy the king’s orders. “It will be fine, Brienne,” Sansa told her quietly. “I’m sure Ser Meryn wouldn’t mind you coming with me. You are my sworn shield after all.” She said it pointedly as she looked at Ser Meryn. He shrugged his shoulders, but looked  displeased by the notion.

Shae was hidden in the bedchamber, with Bronn to defend her if need be, but Aldo and Gar were in the front room. “Tell my lord husband where Brienne and I have gone, and that I will be back as soon as I can.”

As they walked down the hallway leading away from her chambers, none of them saw the small shadow following them.

**********

Brienne was forced to wait outside with Ser Meryn as Sansa stepped into the king’s chambers. He was sitting on a tall backed chair, cleaning his favorite crossbow, the one he had once held to Sansa’s face before he ordered her beaten in front of the entire court. The air was scented with roses, yet the underlying odor from the king’s illness was still present, though not as bad as she had feared when walking towards his chambers. She swallowed nervously. She had no idea why Joffrey had called for her and his silence so far was maddening.

“Ah, Sansa, I’ve been waiting for you.” She breathed a sigh of relief when he set aside his crossbow. “Come, let me see you. Go on, turn around, let’s see.” His behavior was confusing to say the least, but he seemed to be a relatively good mood, so she did as she was told. After turning around once, he stepped closer to her, too close in her opinion, but she did not balk. “Lovely, just lovely. You always did look good in green. My Hound hasn’t given you a litter yet, has he?”

She clenched her jaw, wanting to refute Joffrey’s claim to _her_ Sandor, but thought better of it. “No, your grace, not yet.”

“Has he even been trying? I know he has a soft spot for you, probably only takes you to bed every three days or so.” She wanted to laugh at that, she really did, but held herself. She was shaking from it, which Joffrey misinterpreted. “He still scares you, doesn’t he? I knew you couldn't actually be in love with him. Well, never fear. I am going to grant you a boon.”

She went still with that.

**He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bed, pushing her face down into it. “You should feel more comfortable like this, more at home. Rutting with a dog and all.”**

**“No! Your grace! Please stop this!” she cried but he was stronger than he seemed. He ignored her pleas, ripping the back of her skirt, pushing it to either side of her hips and pulling her small clothes down. “My, my, what a pretty pink little cunt you have.” She burned with shame, no one except _Sandor_ was supposed to see her like this. His hand groped her derriere painfully as the other stayed pushed to her spine, holding her down and bringing tears to her eyes. _Oh gods, please! Help me!_ The fear was overwhelming her.  
**

**“I can see why my dog likes you so much. You see, tonight I will finally be able to bed my rose bride, but I’d like to take a sample of the wolf bride I tossed aside first.” The tears blurred her vision as she heard the soft sound of his clothing hitting the stone floor. “And with any luck, you’ll be bearing my child in nine months, right along with Margaery. Let’s see what’s stronger, shall we? A dog’s seed, or a stag’s.”**

It was the utter arrogance that broke his mental hold over her. That he had the audacity to compare himself to someone like her Sandor. _That..is...IT!_ This was a trespass on her person, on Sandor’s trust, on the very gods themselves. Rage coursed through her veins as she remembered every horrible thing Joffrey, his mother and grandfather had done to her, to her parents, to her siblings, and to her Sandor; rage that pushed her to action. Her skirt was already parted, her legs showing, giving her easy access to the blade strapped to her thigh. Whether Joffrey had noticed it or not, it made no difference to her, not now. It fell away easily from the sheath. She gripped it like Shae had taught her, and plunged it into Joffrey’s leg as deeply as possible, twisting it around as far as she could. He howled as she pulled it back out again, his flesh tearing and blood spurting, staining her clothing and spattering on her exposed legs. The door burst open as Ser Meryn and Brienne ran in, followed closely by Cersei and Jaime. It must have been quite a sight, but Sansa could only feel more shame for so many others seeing her like this. Her victory against Joffrey was overshadowed by it. Cersei’s eyes were wide as dinner plates, as Jaime and Meryn tended to the king and Brienne wrapped Sansa with a sheet after she was able to pull her small clothes back up.

“Lady Brienne, please take the little dove back to her chambers. The rest of us will see to the king,” Cersei said quietly, though she still seemed to be in shock.

As Brienne led her down the hallway, she whispered, “My lady, are you alright?”

Sansa felt lighter with each step they took away from Joffrey. _I stood up to him. I made him stop. I defended myself. I am not the weak, stupid, little girl he first met. I am stronger. I am of the North, born to a strong man and strong woman, with the blood of the First Men running through my veins_. “Believe it or not, Brienne, I feel better than I have in a long, long time.”


	73. Joffrey: Beware the Hour of the Wolf

Pycelle and his mother had just left his chambers. He was livid that it had been stupid traitor’s blood that had done this to him. Joffrey winced as the pain in his leg flared up. His mother had given him an earful about the entire event, how he had been so stupid to try and rape the wife of Sandor Clegane. That if he had succeeded, the man would have killed him, may still try to do so. Joffrey had scoffed at that. Ever the loyal dog, the man would not have retaliated against him. He was the master, the one who held the leash.

He couldn’t believe she had stabbed him. He was stronger, older  _and_ wiser than Sansa. He was king, damn it. She shouldn’t have been able to fight back. She was supposed to cower, like she always cowered. Where did she get that knife from anyway? 

He had had it all planned out. Meryn would deliver her. She’d simper and cower and beg for mercy. And he would give it. He was going to allow her to lay with him. To beget  _his_ bastards, instead of Clegane’s mongrels. How was that not a mercy?

He tried to relax, closed his eyes and waited for the milk of the poppy to take effect. It was too early for him to fall asleep naturally, the sun was still up, though barely. Even if the dog came for him, Meryn and Osmund were standing guard outside his door, with Balon and Loras on either side of the extending hallway, and his uncle Jaime patrolling the immediate area. It was five against one, and that door was the only way in or out, unless one wanted to take a one hundred foot drop off the balcony. His only regret, besides being stabbed, was that he would have to postpone his bedding ceremony yet again. He wondered what his mother would tell the court about why it had to be this way. She would come up with something though. She was a clever lion, just like grandfather was, and just like he aspired to be.

_Fierce as a lion, strong as a stag, smarter than a wolf, that’s me_ , he thought smugly. His eyes flew open when he heard the  _chuh-chink_ sound of his crossbow being primed. He found the culprit quickly enough. A dirty, little servant boy had his hands on the weapon. “What are you doing with that?” he demanded. “Put it down before you break it. How did you get in here anyway?”

The servant boy looked up at him with big round eyes. Familiar grey eyes.  _Where have I seen those before?_

“I came in with everyone else, right after you attempted to  _rape_ Sansa. I just didn’t leave with them,” the boy said as he shrugged, lowering the bow. He walked over to the side of the bed Joffrey was laying on. “Why did you do it? Any of it, all of it?”

“What are you talking about?” Joffrey asked scornfully.

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Everything you’ve done against the Starks. Baratheons and Starks are friends, allies, so why go to so much trouble to snuff them out?”

Joffrey sneered, “They are nothing but trash and traitors. All who stand against me will suffer my wrath.”

A voice from the shadows spoke, “Little one, do what you need to do and let us leave this place. There is not much time. Someone could be back at any moment.”

“Who’s there?” Joffrey called out. The servant boy seemed just as startled, but nodded and turned back to Joffrey. He raised the crossbow once more.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you...much. I’ll gut you, you little cunt.” 

Joffrey’s eyes went wide, recognition flooding his memory, his own words once spoken on a riverbank so long ago. He hissed, “You’re Arya Stark! You--” The bolt to his forehead interrupted him.


	74. Cersei: Another One Bites The Dust

She stood before the body of her first born. His eyes were wide in terror, the crossbow bolt sticking out between his eyes. The crossbow itself was laying in his lap, one hand holding the weapon towards him, his thumb of the opposite hand on the trigger, making it  _look_ like he had killed himself. She knew it to be a lie.  _Her_ son would never commit an act so cowardly as suicide. She clenched her jaw in anger, her knuckles white from gripping the fabric of her dress.

Jaime was beside her, Trant and Balon on the other side. Loras and Osmund were guarding the door. “And no one was in here after I left him?” she asked. Her voice strained and she knew her eyes must be red from forcing back her anguish.

“No one, your grace. You and Pycelle were the last ones to see him. No one has been in or out until this morning when the maid came with his breakfast,” Meryn Trant answered. Pycelle approached them.

“Your grace, all indications point to this being done within an hour of the king retiring for bed. The windows are all locked, no one except the king was in here last night.”

“Except that there  _had_ to be, because my son would  _not_ kill himself,” she hissed.

“Maybe it was an accident?” Trant suggested. Cersei glared at him.

“That little monster did this,” she said angrily.

Jaime raised an eyebrow at her. “How? Our brother has been locked in his tower cell for more than a day.”

“Then it must have been the Hound!” she challenged.

Jaime sighed. “I spoke with Clegane myself. He didn’t know about the incident with Sansa until very late last night. She and I somehow managed to convince him to not speak to the king until this morning. He gave his word that he would wait, and you know how he is about lying.”

“Sansa, then.”

Jaime sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Do you really think she could be capable of such a thing? She was walked out of here by Brienne, at your request. I can double check, but if they went straight to her rooms, then there will be plenty of witnesses. Even if she came back later, there is still the matter of  _how_ she could have gotten past the Kingsguard.”

She scoffed, wracking her brain for an answer.  _Who would kill my baby?_ “But--”

Jaime continued, “This room was locked up tight, no one in or out, remember? As much as you would like to condemn someone for this, there is no one.”

She narrowed her eyes at her twin.  _He was our SON. Someone WILL pay for this_.


	75. Sandor: Family Matters

It was later than he normally kept training going. The sun was halfway to the horizon when he finally called the session to an end. The boys were doing well, keeping up with his pace, which encouraged him to work them longer. They were the first recruits he trained and the gods be damned if he didn’t give them his best.

He was surprised to see the Kingslayer walking up to him as the trainees departed. “Come for another session?” he asked with a bit of amusement. Jaime had been working with him, Bronn and Ser Ilyn to improve his left-handed swordplay. Sandor was pleased to see an improvement already, though Jaime said it wasn’t enough. Jaime’s face was blank, but his eyes betrayed him. Sandor could see he was not here for pleasantries. “What is it? What happened?”

“Come quickly, there’s been an incident with Lady Sansa. She’s not hurt, but she needs you,” he said quietly, turning on his heel. Sandor did not question him any further. Tossing the equipment he was holding to Saul, he ordered the boy to finish putting everything away.

His steps quickened the closer he got to his chambers. Jaime was struggling to keep up. Swinging the door open, Sandor barked, “Sansa!”

“In here, Clegane,” Brienne called from the doorway to the bedchamber. Sandor stormed up to her.

“And where the hell were you when this  _incident_ happened?!” he demanded. Brienne showed no emotion, but bowed her head.

“Sandor,” he heard his wife call. “Leave her be. She was where she was needed.” Sandor growled at Brienne but left her to join Sansa. She was standing in her shift, waiting for Shae to bring her a gown. On the bed was another gown, this one ripped in the skirt. She pulled on a robe and tied it securely. She seemed ok, but Jaime had seemed distressed about what had happened. He wasn’t sure how to handle the situation and settled for simply asking about it.

“Little bird, what happened?” he asked softly. She patted the bed. He sat and she took her place on his lap, his arms curled around her and her head leaning on his chest. 

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “Joffrey called for me. Brienne went with me, I insisted upon it, but she was only allowed to stand with Ser Meryn outside the king’s chambers and not stay with me. I never expected him to...I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be alone with him if I had even an inkling…” Her voice broke from the sobs. He held her tighter and spoke soothing whispers as he planned just how Joffrey would die. 

_Drawn and quartered? Bit old-fashioned. Decapitated? Not slow enough. Maybe just toss him out a window from tall tower. He’d make a nice splat sound, I bet._

She calmed enough to continue, though she was still crying, “He pushed me down, t-tore my skirt and r-removed my, my….” she sniffled, unable to say  _small clothes_ , though he figured it out when she gestured.  _Maybe slice him up a bit before tossing him out the window._

“He could  _see me_.” Her eyes were wide, scared. “ _You_ are the only one I want to see me like that. The only one who deserves that part of me. I was so scared he would take that from us too, but then…” she went quiet for a moment, “Then he angered me.”

She was so calm when she said that, it surprised Sandor. “How did he do that, little bird?”

Her blue eyes flashed with what he surmised was the same anger. “He  _dared_ to say his seed could be stronger than yours. As if he was somehow  _better_ than you.” She growled, but Sandor wasn’t sure she was aware of it. He was so flabbergasted by what had pissed her off that he couldn’t fully appreciate how adorable she was being. Later, he would come up behind her and give her a hug for no apparent reason, but for now, he could only stare at her.

“What happened next?” he asked, breaking her trance of anger. His own had been subdued for the moment, though he was still thinking of what else he could do to Joffrey.  _I wonder if they would notice his manhood was missing from his squished body?_

“Once I got angry, I remembered what he had done to me, what he had done to you, what his mother and grandfather had done. I just kept getting angrier and angrier until I remembered my dagger. I didn’t even think it through, I just grabbed it and stabbed him. Properly, too.” She looked very pleased with herself.

“Properly?” he asked, amused despite himself. She made a stabbing motion, twisted her imaginary dagger, and then pulled it out again. He chuckled, “Aye, that is the proper way to do it, if you want to call it that.”

“Joffrey was bleeding like a stuck pig when I left. You taught your wife well, Clegane,” Jaime interjected. He and Brienne were leaning against the doorway and had been listening the entire time. In his anger and rush to get to Sansa, Sandor had left the bedchamber door open and they had taken it as permission to eavesdrop. He scowled at the pair.

“I think I will be having words with the king now,” he snarled at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Jaime started at that.

“Hound, I understand, but if you kill him, you will face certain death.  _Your wife_ will face certain death. Do you really want that?” Jaime cajoled.

“Then they just can’t see it’s me then,” his voice was low and dangerous calm.

“Sandor, let it be for now,” Sansa said. Sandor stared at her.

“How can I?! After what he did?? What he tried to do?!”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, “My love, someone is missing from the household.”

He frowned at her and looked around. Saul had just returned. Brienne and Gar were in the next room with Jaime. He and Sansa were in the bedchamber. Bronn and Shae were hiding in the dressing room. Alys was no longer with them. That left…  _The wolf bitch_ . He felt the corner of his mouth begin to twitch into a smile.  _Best. Goodsister. Ever_. 


	76. Tyrion: Fuck Me Sideways and Call Me Shirley

The trial was a joke. Just not a very funny one.  _Well, maybe the first part_ , Tyrion thought.  _And distracting enough to sidestep the issue of the king’s apparent suicide. I’m surprised my dear sister didn’t accuse me of that one, too. I wonder if the vigils for Father and Joffrey are being done together or separately?_

Cersei had announced herself as one of the judges, after incipient King Tommen stepped down. The court was silent, save for a few awkward coughs. Pycelle gently told her that as it was her brother on trial, she was not eligible as an impartial judge. She sneered at the ancient maester, opened her mouth to lay into him, when Uncle Kevan stepped in to guide her to the side of the room. He wasn’t sure, but Tyrion thought she might have swayed a little on her feet.  _She’s been drinking? That’s a change of positions. I’m usually the drunk one, though, now that I think about it, I haven’t had much more than a cup or two at meals lately. Not since...not since I escaped marriage to Sansa and was able to have more time for Shae. Curious._

Mace Tyrell, Oberyn Martell and Jalabhar Xho came forward as the approved judges. Witness upon witness was paraded before them, but try as they might, no one could really say how Tyrion dealt with his father, not without outright lying, which Meryn Trant did, but with little to back it up. Trant claimed that he saw Tyrion slip something into his father’s wine cup, but of the three judges, it was Mace who poked the hole in that one, asking how he could see something like that when he hadn’t been anywhere near the dais, and Tyrion hadn’t touched any of the cups near his father.  _Thank the gods for the likes of Mace Tyrell!_ Ser Osmund had the more compelling story, of how Tyrion desired to remain as the King’s Hand. Tyrion shrugged a little at this, making a face as if to say “I could take or leave it”, which caused the audience to laugh.

Varys spoke of Tyrion’s relationship to Tywin, describing it as “tense, but they got things done, if only to outdo the other.” The eunuch went on to say, “I have often heard him complain of his father, but what son doesn’t from time to time? Neither I nor any of my little birds have ever heard him actually speak of wanting his father dead.”

The lying became more and more obvious as the witnesses kept going.  _I’m not even mad, this is impressive_. The woman who claimed to be Tysha was pretty enough, but her coloring was all wrong and kept calling Tyrion by his father’s name. Jaime escorted her out before she could finish her testimony, explaining to the judges that he had known Tysha and would not stand by as some woman tried to impersonate her simply to get people talking. “Even if the real woman was only my goodsister for less than a fortnight, she deserves better than this,” he said. Tyrion was grateful, especially since the specific reason for his annulment was not presented.

Finally, Cersei took the stand. Tyrion briefly wondered how she had originally intended to be both a judge and a witness.

“My lords, it is with a heavy heart that I come before you. I heard my brother threaten my father, telling him that it was his  _due_ to receive Casterly Rock. Father said he would rather die than give it to a little beast like Tyrion, to which he replied ‘As you weesh.’”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that. Not only was Cersei’s speech slurred, but the conversation was more damning to Tywin than Tyrion. 

“Your father was going to deny his own son his inheritance?” asked Jalabhar Xho.

“It wasn’t  _his_. It isn’t and never shall be! It belongs to Jaime!” Cersei insisted.

“But Ser Jaime is Kingsguard,  _Lord Commander_ of the Kingsguard, in fact, and appointed at your behest,” Mace pointed out to her. “He cannot hold lands.”

“He was going to step down. There is precedent!” Cersei had a wild look in her eyes.

“Ser Jaime?” Mace looked around for him. Jaime stepped forward again, this time to stand in between his two siblings. “Can you please address the queen regent’s statement?”

“I’m afraid I have no knowledge of what she speaks of. I never had any intention of stepping down from my post. And while there is precedent for Ser Barristan, it was forced upon the man who stepped down, a better man and knight than I. The precedent for Lord Clegane is muddy as well. And, for the record, my brother would make an excellent Lord of the Rock, if he should be so inclined.” Jaime gave Tyrion a small smile before stepping back to his guard post. Cersei looked ready to murder someone.

The next “witness” was Sansa’s former handmaiden Alys. “What say you of the prisoner?” asked Jalabhar.

She was quite a timid looking thing, now that Tyrion could take a good look at her. Powder on her cheeks were barely covering the bruises she had received. A cut on her lip that was mostly healed could be seen as well.  _What in the Seven Hells happened to her? Those injuries look more than a few days old._

“M’lords, he, I mean, Lord Tyrion Lannister conspired against his father and his nephew the king,” said the girl he had never even spoken to.  _Well, this ought to be good_. He sat back in his chair, ready to listen to her tale, wishing he had a snack of some sort to munch on. 

“After he was injured in the Battle of the Blackwater, when he was stripped of the position as Hand, he began to plot against his family. After his father, he used dark sorcery to kill his nephew, making it look like the king killed himself. He planned on killing his sister next, so that he could be the Hand to his nephew Tommen, but before the boy could grow into a ruler the people loved, he would kill him as well, in order to take the crown for himself.”

“Dark sorcery?” Jalabhar asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Yes, m’lord. Magic from the Summer Is--” Alys blushed deeply when she realized who she was speaking to. “I could be mistaken though,” she said, blushing furiously. Jalabhar let it go, but his opinion of the girl had obviously dropped considerably.

“And how do you know of this?” Oberyn asked.

The girl said baldly, “I know of this because he told me so.”

Oberyn looked over at Tyrion, who shook his head and mouthed “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Why would he confide in you? A mere handmaiden, not one of even his sister’s household, let alone his own,” remarked Jalabhar.

“I...I was his unwilling lover, m’lords,” her tears were in earnest.  Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that. _Must be difficult to remember everything Cersei told you to say. Did she threaten you with death, little one, if you did not perform to her standards?_

“Ever since he arrived here in King’s Landing, I have been subjected to his sexual desires, day in and day out. On the morning of what was supposed to be his wedding day, he took me down to the room where they keep the dragon skulls and...and f-fucked me there. I cried, I was so scared. But he said, I should be grateful, it’s not every woman who gets to pleasure the future king.” She sobbed. “I was supposed to be married, m’lords, to a nice boy, a squire, but the Imp was jealous, and put him on the front lines of the battle against Lord Stannis. He died that day, never knowing what fate I was being left to. He made me do such _awful, shameful_ things.”

“What sort of things?” Oberyn’s eyes sparkled a little as Tyrion rolled his.  Must be a  _horned_ viper.

“ _Unspeakable_ things, m’lord,” her tears slowed as her breathing evened out. “With my mouth and...other parts…” she waved her hand in a vague gesture. Tyrion wondered if she actually had any idea what she was hinting at because she sounded ridiculous. “All my parts. He used me every way there was and...he used to make me tell him how big he was!  _My giant_ , I was told to call him.  _My giant of Lannister_.”

Tyrion couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. He only snorted at first, but the longer he thought about what she said, the funnier it was, and soon he was doubled over with laughter. All three judges stared at him. As soon as he was calm enough, though still giggling about it, he said, “Forgive me, my lords. It’s just, that between my brother and me, the name is actually quite appropriate.” Eyes turned to Jaime, who gave an exaggerated reluctant sigh and nodded in agreement. Chortles and chuckles could be heard throughout the audience.

Tyrion grinned, “Hell, let me be compared to the Hound, and I might just give him a run for his money.” Alys turned beet red as he heard the bark of laughter he had expected, followed by a hissed  _Sandor!_ from Lady Sansa as she admonished him.

“You deny the rest though?” asked Jalabhar as he tried not to smile.

“My lords, I have never spoken to this girl before, except possibly to give her a greeting when I went to visit the Cleganes. If she believes she has had such intimate relations with me, then it is something she concocted in her mind, and not based on actual truth.”

“Can you prove you did not have a relationship with her?” Mace asked.

“Can she prove that we did? First, is she still a maiden? Let her be inspected for this. If she is not a maiden, then I will prove that I did not have relations with her.”

“M’lords! Is that really necessary?” Alys exclaimed frantically.

Oberyn sighed. “You are accusing a lord of a major house of forcing you to have sex with him. It is only prudent to verify your claims, lest it be a  _false_ accusation. Take her to the sept, and arrange for her inspection immediately.” Gold cloaks surrounded her as she cowered on the witness seat. She did not utter a peep as she was lead away. Tyrion almost felt sorry for her, but her reaction to the inspection made him believe that she was indeed still a maid and would soon be proven a liar.

“Lord Tyrion, that was the last of the court’s witnesses. If you would, please call your own.” Oberyn motioned for him to speak.

“Lord and Lady Clegane, are my first witnesses,” Tyrion called out. They descended to the witness seat together, the Hound giving the chair to Sansa and choosing to stand behind her. 

“Lady Clegane, what do you know of Lord Tyrion? Do you believe that he killed his father?” asked Mace.

“No, my lords, I do not believe that. Lord Tyrion is a kind, generous man, who has helped me on several occasions.” Sansa’s voice rang out in the hall, clear and ringing of truth. Of all the people who would hate Lannisters, she was the most prominent and the fact that she was speaking on his behalf was not lost on the judges or the audience.

“How did he save you?”

She bowed her head, “It is difficult for me to speak of, so please have patience with me, my lords. My former betrothed, King Joffrey, was..he was not known to be kind to me. Many members of the audience here can attest to this fact. One such instance, I was brought before the court, stripped and b-beaten at Joffrey’s order. Those in attendance were either unwilling or  _unable_ to stop him, lest he turn his wrath on them. It was Lord Tyrion who stopped him, and for that, I am forever grateful. When he was to become my husband, I knew that even if I never loved him, we could at least become friends in our marriage. While our marriage was not meant to be, I am happy to be able to call Tyrion Lannister my friend.”

Tyrion felt a tightness in his chest, but it was a good feeling. _Friends._ The Hound spoke next, “The Imp may be a whoring little drunk, but in all the time I’ve known him, which is a bloody long time, he only ever wanted his father’s acceptance. Not likely to get it, now that his father is dead.”

_Succinct as always, my dear Hound_ . Tyrion sighed.  _Two more witnesses._

Bronn was next. “He’s a decent bloke, always kept his word. I’ve been in his service for a while now, and I have no complaints.”

“And how was his relationship with his father?”

“Better than you’d expect, considering.” Bronn looked bored.

“What do you mean?” asked Mace.

“His first marriage, with the girl that was impersonated earlier. His father was the one that had it annulled. Insisted on it, even though young Tyrion was desperately in love with the girl. And on top of that, he humiliated both Tyrion and the girl when he forced the issue. If it were me, I would not have been so forgiving.” Tyrion gulped. This story, this was the one that could damn him.

“You believe he forgave his father over this...humiliation?” Jalabhar looked skeptical.

“Well, as it turned out, the girl was not quite so honest with Tyrion. While his method was harsh, his father actually saved him from an even harsher reality of having a wife who only wanted him for his money.” And there it was, the bitter truth behind the sweet lie that was Tysha. He remembered when Shae had pointed out the obvious, that no female who had just survived an attempted rape would jump into bed with someone else on the same day, savior or not.

_Sweet Shae, how I miss you_.

Bronn stepped down from the witness seat.  _That was much more than I could hope for. How to repay him? But first, the final witness_. He should have known to be wary. Cersei had been looking darker and darker with each witness, until she stalked out of the Great Hall when Bronn began speaking. She returned shortly after, but now she was smiling.

Dontos the fool was dragged out, in chains like Tyrion, his motley was dingy and he smelled like he hadn’t bathed since he was locked away. He probably hadn’t even before that. _Drunken louse._

“What say you, fool? Speak and be heard,” Jalahbar said harshly.

“My lords...I...um...I...it was me!” Dontos cried out. “I did it. I killed Lord Tywin. And…” The judges leaned forward at his pause. “And it was at the request of Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa!”

A collective gasp was heard from the crowd. Dontos kept speaking, “She wanted to hurt the one who killed her family, and he wanted to help her revenge! He cared not if it was his father that died, only wanted to repay his debt to her.”

The audience erupted in outrage and worse, Sansa was pulled away from her husband and brought forth back to the witness seat.  _This is bad, because THIS is believable, even if I know she wouldn’t hurt anyone without extreme provocation, they don’t._

Oberyn boomed out, “ENOUGH!” The fracas began to calm down and soon there was the desired quiet.

Sansa had turned toward Sandor, Tyrion could only assume she was reassuring him that she was fine, because while he looked murderous, he did not fight the guards holding him back, though he could have easily have taken them all out. She faced the judges again.

“Lady Clegane, what is your response to these charges? Did you conspire with the man you call your friend to kill his father?” Oberyn asked gently.

“While I had more than enough reason to do so, no, I did not. My own father was taken from me in a horrible manner, I could not and  _would not_ do that to anyone, no matter how I felt about them.” Her voice was steady and her chin held high. Tyrion felt a sense of pride in having seen her grow into such a strong, young woman. She had been good for Clegane, but he had been good for her in return, lending her his strength until she could find her own. Tyrion watched Cersei, saw her jaw clench as she began to doubt her course of action, because he knew without a doubt that it was her that “convinced” Dontos to change his story.  _Feeling guilty, Cersei? If you had only opened your heart to more people, you would not be where you are now, dear sister._

Dontos was sitting in the witness seat still, his stupid fool’s hat and its little bells shaking from fear. Tyrion saw the man’s mind reeling, trying to clutch at anything to save himself. “C-co-combat!” he shouted. Everyone turned to look at him. “I-I-I demand trial by c-com-bat!” Oberyn sighed, turned to the other judges, who nodded to each other, and just like that, Tyrion, Sansa, and Dontos were granted a trial by combat to determine their innocence.


	77. Sansa: Lessons Learned

_This isn’t happening, this must be a dream, a nightmare, a hallucination, anything but reality._ The world seemed to move in slow motion, but deep down, she knew this was no dream, this was real. 

“I declare Ser Gregor Clegane to be the champion for the victim,” Cersei rang out. Sansa paled.

_Not Gregor! Anyone but him!_ For she knew as surely as the sun rose each day, so would her husband demand to be her champion. If there was anyone in this world who could beat the Hound, it might just be the Mountain, and if there was anyone she most wanted to protect Sandor from, it was Gregor.

Cersei continued, “You must submit the names of your champions by sunset, or your life will be forfeit. Ser Gregor was on his way back to King’s Landing as of three days ago. He should arrive by tomorrow, so the trial by combat will take place in two days.”

“There is no need to wait for sunset, I will stand as my wife’s champion,” Sandor said. 

“And if there is no objection from Lord Tyrion, I will stand as his,” Oberyn added. He turned to Dontos. “That leaves only you. You’ll be taken to your cell, provided with a pen and paper to write out a list of candidates. I will personally go speak to them. Sound fair to you?” Dontos could only squeak before he was taken away by the gold cloaks.

Jaime was leading Tyrion away as the gold cloaks advanced upon her. Trying not to show her anxiety, she meekly submitted to the irons they clasped on her. Sandor stood next to her now, his body tense. She turned her head to see him better. 

“Husband…”

“I know, wife.” He kissed her forehead, “I’ll be with you as long as I can.”

**********

Sandor stayed with her late into the evening. Brienne came by with Aldo. “My lady, how did this happen?” Brienne asked.

Sandor snarled, “It was that cunt, Cersei. She somehow convinced Dontos to claim responsibility and to name Sansa and Tyrion as co-conspirators. Must scared him badly enough for him to push for a trial by combat.”

“But how can he just declare it for the other two? Isn’t there a rule against that?” asked Aldo.

“No, I don’t think so. The Imp would have said something if there was. As far as I understand it, once they were named accomplices, they had to all be put on trial together, and if one declares trial by combat...well, that’s how it goes, but that doesn’t apply to their champions. Each gets one, especially since two of them claim innocence.” Sandor sighed. 

"But he had already confessed!" 

"And claims he was forced to do it by Sansa and the Imp," Sandor growled. "He can still call for combat, unfortunately, because of that fact." Everyone looked dejected, unable to fight against the inevitable. 

“I would like to speak with Sansa alone,” Aldo said, then added, “please.”

“Of course,” Brienne replied, “We’ll wait down the hall.” Sandor merely grunted, but rose to leave. He kissed Sansa tenderly and exchanged a few whispered words before following Brienne.

“Still astounding that you’re happily married to that oaf,” her disguised younger sibling said as she watched him go. Sansa gave her a warning look, but patted the seat next to her. Arya took it without complaint.

“What did you wish to ask me?” she asked.

Arya shuffled her feet against the stone floor. “Not so much ask, as say to you. I’m sorry about what happened to you yesterday. If I could have gotten in there sooner, I would have. But, I am proud of how you handled yourself. You’re not weak, nor a victim, not anymore. You’re finally showing the wolf in you, and I’m...just happy to know you have it in you. Makes the next part easier.”

“Next part?”

Arya nodded, “Once this whole mess is settled, I’m leaving. I told you about the Faceless Man I met, Jaqen H’ghar, and the coin he gave me. This coin will get me to Braavos, where I can learn how to be...more like Jaqen, I suppose. And like Syrio.”

Sansa was dumbstruck. It had never occurred to her that Arya wouldn’t stay with her, but now that she thought about it, leaving made sense. She would do the same, if the alternative was to live in secret, pretending to be a servant. In Braavos, Arya would be protected by the fact that no one there knows her, and she would be learning something she wanted to do, something she seemed to be good at. Sansa had originally been horrified to find out that Arya had killed so many people in such a seemingly short time, but they had all deserved it one way or another. It also comforted Sansa to know that someone was taking revenge for the wrongs done to their family. Arya would take it her way, as Sansa would take it in her own. She couldn’t fault her sister for that, nor did she want to deny her a chance to see more of the world.

Arya was looking at her expectantly, fearful of her sister’s response. Sansa gave her a small smile. “I’ll miss you. Will you come back? Eventually? One day, Winterfell will be ours again. I would very much like to see you there.”

Arya grinned and pounced on her sister, giving her a fierce hug. “Of course! Come hell or highwater, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

Sansa touched her forehead to Arya’s. “Thank the gods for your stubborn streak. Now go, before the guard starts to wonder if you’re attempting a jailbreak.”

“One last thing,” Arya whispered in her sister’s ear. “Joffrey...it was me.”

Sansa whispered back, “I know. And thank you.”

Arya kissed Sansa’s cheek and bid her goodbye.

**********

Sandor returned early the next morning. She made him promise to keep to his usual activities instead of keeping her company. It had taken her nearly half an hour, but she got the promise from him. She had to bite her tongue to keep from calling him back as he walked away. It was lonely in her cell, but she could hear the clanging of the swords echo from the training yard as well as the bellow of her husband’s voice and both comforted her. Stepping into the familiar pattern, she practiced her daggerwork as well, using a piece of wood she had found in place of the real one strapped to her thigh. Shae would scold her if she didn’t practice, and it helped to alleviate the boredom. As much as she wanted to use her dagger, the guards hadn’t searched her, and she wasn’t about to tell them about it. She had heard of people naming their swords, and wondered about naming her dagger. _Hound’s Tooth_. She smiled at the name, for its bite had certainly been as sharp as her husband’s. 

Step after step, step right, step left, step back in an almost curtsy, step forward, a pretend step, step turn, turn step, the variations were endless. The wooden replacement for Hound’s Tooth was her partner, swooping in great arcs, dashing across short distances, switching hands, flipping forward and backward, dropping from one hand only to be caught by the other. It was like a dance.  _I wonder if this is what Arya learned from her dancing master?_ Shae had become even more relentless in her instruction after going into hiding, and Sansa had greatly improved in that time. Sansa’s skirts swirled around her as she practiced. Hours passed, and she did not let up. Her body was tired, her breath was heavy, and her clothing was soaked with sweat, but she continued on.

She did not hear the footsteps approach and was startled by a cough that interrupted her dance, instinctively throwing her “dagger” at the intruder.

“You have lovely form, my dear, but you need to work on your aim,” the eunuch said, having caught the piece of wood easily. 

“The wood doesn’t have the same weight as my actual dagger, it’s an adjustment I need to work on,” she said.

“I suppose your foreign handmaiden has been teaching you?” Sansa nodded. Varys smiled, “Good. All women should be able to defend themselves. You more than most.”

“Why do you say that, my lord?”

“You have much to offer this world, Sansa. It would be a shame for you to be broken by it before your time comes.” Varys smiled enigmatically. “I came to make you an offer. I heard from one of my little birds the truth behind your disappearance the night of the king’s wedding. You tricked one of the best tricksters in the kingdom, my dear. That is not a small feat. How did you accomplish it? Forgive me for saying, but you are not particularly talented when it comes to lying.”

“What did you hear?” she asked cautiously.

“Excellent question, my dear. You wouldn’t want to give too much away before knowing what I know. I heard that the trickster had every intention of stealing you away, stealing away your husband as well when you refused, but you continued to refuse him...you convinced him that it was in  _his_ best interests to leave you here.”

Sansa dropped her gaze. “I have thought about that night over and over again. I can only come to one conclusion. I believe it only worked because he didn’t expect it from me.”

“Exactly!”

Her gaze shot back up. Varys was giving her a brilliant smile. “I beg your pardon?”

“That is exactly why it worked. He wasn’t expecting you to lie to him, and he  _wanted_ to believe what you told him. You didn’t lie, not really. You bent the truth or told the whole truth, using it to your advantage. You gave him what he wanted to hear, what he wanted to believe. Your talent is not outright lying, it’s seeing the truth others want to know and telling it to them. Consider this your first lesson. The truth does matter, but the way it is perceived is much more important.” He handed the piece of wood back to her. “If you would be so kind as to indulge me every so often, I can teach you more.”

“Why would you go out of your way to do something like that?” she asked, accepting the piece back. 

“I told you, you have much to offer this world, my lady. I would just like to ensure you the best chance to contribute. Think if over. I have full confidence in your husband’s ability to win against your goodbrother. Give me your answer after his bout with Gregor, how does that sound?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> So....I have no clue about Westerosi law, and I just made all of that up. I'm sure it's full of holes, and for that I apologize.


	78. Sandor: Song of Eternity

Gregor rode into the capital that afternoon, the day after Dontos called for the trial by combat, as expected. Oberyn was giddy with excitement, which was annoying Sandor to no end. The man hadn’t stopped talking since he entered the room, hadn’t even allowed Sandor the time to get his breakfast. He had pestered Sandor with questions about the elder Clegane, to which Sandor had answered to the best of his knowledge, but his patience was worn thin by the time Oberyn had launched into his strategy. “--plan to use my spear. I am adept at many weapons, but the spear is my favorite. The reach advantage alone will help when I battle Gre--”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sandor asked with a hiss. His head was pounding. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep despite the rigorous training he had put himself through the day before. Knowing his little bird was shut away in a cell, instead of laying next to him, had caused his insomnia. The trial would commence that afternoon, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to stay on his feet, let alone be able to fight.

“Something troubles you?” Oberyn asked. He seemed genuinely interested, but Sandor had no desire to tell him. He glared at the man. Oberyn was not disturbed by it, and even grinned back. “You have the look of someone who is about to collapse. Perhaps you should rest? There is plenty of time before the fight. Until then, my friend.”

Sandor watched him leave, grateful that the man was finally gone. He tried lying down for a bit, but his mind was too active.  _There’s really only one way to solve this._ He tried for a bit longer, but finally, he called for Saul and Gar. They brought him clean clothing, and Gar helped him dress, even after he attempted to shoo him away.

“Lady Sansa says it’s proper for a page to help a lord dress. Wouldn’t want to disappoint future masters, would I, m’lord?” Sandor scowled at him, but allowed him to help. Brienne was just coming in as he was leaving, with Jaime close behind her.

“My lord?” she asked.

“I’ll be back later. Going to see my wife. Stay with the kids,” he barked before closing the door.

**********

Sansa was sitting peacefully in the center of her cell when he entered. The guard locked it behind him, “Just shout for me when you’re ready to go, m’lord.” He nodded to the man and listened to his echoing footsteps fading into the distance. He turned to his wife. Her legs were crossed underneath her skirt, her hands placed delicately, one on each knee, her spine ramrod straight, her eyes closed and her breathing even.

“What are you doing, wife?”

“I am meditating, husband. I hear it’s good for the soul. Or at least it gives me something to do in between practicing with my wooden dagger.” She opened her eyes. “You look tired.”

“Worrying will do that to a man. Can’t seem to sleep without you around.” She gave him an amused smile. “Don’t be getting cocky now. Or I’ll make you pay for that later.” Her smile grew broader. He rolled his eyes and sat down, leaning against the wall.

“Would you like for me to sing to you?” she asked. She scooted next to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Aye, I would like that, little bird. A hearty song to raise my spirits.”

She giggled, “I think you need something more to relax. Sleep, my love. I will wake you when it is time.”

She began to sing.

I wonder what awaits me in that far, far away place on the other side  
That place is a long way from here,  
and today I am all alone

As if it can never end  
Continuing as if it were not broken  
I was praying forever as if I could struggle on 

In order to distract myself from sadness, I injure myself again  
The amount of pain I feel remains the same,  
I'm just making sure I'm still alive 

As if it can never end  
Continuing as if it were not broken  
I was praying forever as if I could struggle on 

Now I'm wrapped up in your kindness  
One day, I saw that place  
And that place is you

Sandor was fast asleep by the last verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> The song Sansa sings is a translation (hence the lack of rhyme or rhythm) of a Japanese song called Song of Eternity. Though I did add in a line, just to make it a bit more even. I was trying to find the translated lyrics for the song, When You Sleep, by the same artist, but had absolutely no luck. Bonus internet points for you if you can figure out the artist, without Googling it. 


	79. Brienne: Just Let Me Have This

“What’s his problem?” Jaime asked as the Hound stormed out of the room. Brienne raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, right.”

“How are you not worried about your brother?” she asked in amazement. “I’m terrified for him and Lady Sansa.”

“It’s not that I’m not worried. It’s just that I know there’s nothing I can do right now. And I’ve been staying with him at night. We have been having a lot of heart to hearts lately, making up for lost time, lost words…” His face was a bit red from embarrassment. He changed the subject, “So…what do you think Clegane’s chances are against...uh, Clegane. The elder.”

Gar chimed in, surprising Brienne since she hadn't even noticed him. Aldo stood with him. “Don’t worry. Master Clegane will win against his brother.” The little one spoke with complete confidence. Brienne wished she was able to feel the same, but she had heard about Gregor Clegane, and none of it sounded like Lord Sandor could possibly win against him.

“What makes you believe that?” Jaime asked.

“My master is the greatest. And he won’t lose to a bully like the Mountain, especially not when it's the mistress's life on the line,” Gar said faithfully.

“You believe that? Completely?” Jaime just had to push the kid, Brienne saw. She wanted to cuff him, but Gar did not back down.

“Of course.” Gar looked up at them innocently, “Don’t you?”

Brienne froze.  _Do I?_

**********

She and Jaime were alone in the sitting room. _How did this happen?_ Neither had said anything since Gar and Aldo had run off to play hopfrog. Saul had begrudgingly followed to watch over them, though Brienne suspected he wanted to play too. Shae had convinced Bronn to go out while she took a nap. Brienne had a hunch the handmaiden had had her fill of the sellsword’s company and just wanted some time alone. Shae had retired to the servants’ room without hearing his response. Bronn had shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Guess I’ll go visit Tyrion for a spell then,” and left.

_Now what? Why is he even still here? I wouldn’t mind taking a nap as well. All the stress of this past week is really affecting my sleep_ , Brienne thought, but stayed silent as she thumbed through a book she had picked up from Sansa's small collection. She couldn't concentrate on the words, however, and found herself asking, “Why were you there?” without thinking.

“I’m sorry?”

She cleared her throat and expanded on the question, “The night King Joffrey died, earlier in the evening when he attacked my lady. Meryn and I were standing at the door, we heard the scream, we rushed in, and then you and Cersei were right behind us. What were you doing there?” She looked over at him.

Jaime sighed and tilted his head back against the cushions of the couch. “Varys. He came to see Cersei. We had been fighting about Tyrion, and...anyway, one of his little birds had told him you and Sansa were heading toward the king’s chambers. He suspected it would not end well, ‘end quite badly’ is what he said, then rushed off to ‘help a damsel that wasn’t distressed’. He always had an odd way with his words. Anyway, sure enough, right as we turned down the hallway to Joffrey’s room, we saw you and Meryn run in, and we were quick to follow. I didn’t stay long, just made sure the situation was well in hand, then went off to find Clegane. You know the rest of that evening.”

“Oh,” she said. Several more moments of silence passed.  _Maybe I should just ask him to leave? I doubt he’d take offense._ She shifted her shoulders, where the majority of her stress was being held.

“Problem?” Jaime asked. 

“Just a stiff neck and shoulders. Nothing a hot bath won’t cure.”

“Huh,” Jaime said.  _Not a question. What is it now?_ He seemed to be considering something, and it bothered Brienne that he didn’t just say whatever it was, like he usually did.

“What?” she asked irritably, fully expecting a snide remark.

“Well, I could...massage it? If you’re ok with a one handed massage, I mean.” Jaime looked a little embarrassed. “I was pretty good, I mean, before the whole...I was good…” Brienne was a little shocked at how red Jaime was getting.

“Good gods, man. If it will get you to stop turning red, do whatever you want!”

Jaime chuckled, “Dangerous words, Brienne.”

Now it was her turn to become red. “You know what I mean!” she said angrily. A little calmer, she said, “I would appreciate a massage, one-handed or not. What do you need me to do?”

“Just take your armor and doublet off, and sit in front of me. You’re tall enough that if you sit on the floor, I can still reach you.” She could hear the smirk. She wanted to scowl at him, but the temptation of a massage on her knotted muscles was too good to pass up. 

She removed the requested articles, carefully folding the doublet and placing it over the back of a chair. It was one of the pieces of clothing that Lady Sansa had promised to alter to fit her better since learning it was one of Brienne’s favorites. The bright blue of the doublet reminded her of home, and it was her most comfortable. She had a thin undershirt on, and it covered her enough to be considered decent, and Jaime had certainly seen her in much,  _much_ less, but it did not stop her from feeling vulnerable under his gaze. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she positioned herself in front of him, sitting crosslegged on a pillow he had placed on the floor. His metal hand was cold through the thin fabric that covered her shoulder.

She must have shivered, because he said, “Sorry, wench. I need to be able to brace against you. It will warm up soon enough. Just...try to relax. I’m on a learning curve here.”

He pressed gently on her spine, stroking it lightly, then moving to the muscle closer to her shoulder blade. She moaned softly as he worked out the knot there. Firm yet tender little circles from his thumb.  _By the gods, he IS good at this, one-handed or not._ He moved along, poking and prodding to find the stress points, then applying those wonderful little circles, again and again. He worked his way down one side of her back, then up the other side. She fairly felt like pudding once he was done, even going so far as to lean back, her head in his lap and looking up at him and his smirk.

"I take it that you liked it then?" he asked. _The man has certainly earned that smirk today,_ she thought.

“Jaime, that was phenomenal! Where on earth did you learn how to do that? Even maesters haven’t given one that good. I feel so much better. How can I ever repay you? And can I ask for it again?” she asked, smiling at him.  _If getting a massage like that is a benefit of being his friend, I wish I had met him sooner,_ she thought. 

“Thank you. I learned by trial and error on Lord Crakehall. He was an old man, with many battle wounds. Merrett Frey and I would have to administer to him, since he was often at odds with the maester. I can think of a few ways you can repay me, one of which being returning the favor, later on though, not right now. For now, I just want this.” He leaned forward, his arm with the metal hand snaking across to rest across her chest. “Just let me have this,” he whispered, closing the distance and pressing his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> Answer to yesterday's trivia: Song of Eternity is performed by J, who is also the bassist and co-founder of the band Luna Sea. His full name is Jun Onose, but he usually just goes by J, which is super confusing when you try to Google him. He's also kind of a weirdo, but I adore him anyway. His website is http://www.j-wumf.com/en/, and wumf stands for Wake Up MotherFucker. Like I said, kind of a weirdo.
> 
>  
> 
> So I really felt the need to break up all the dire situation with a little fluff, before all hell breaks loose. Also, I missed Brienne and Jaime. I don't know what to call their fandom, since I've heard several names for it, and I'm way more of a SanSan fan, but yeah, I like them and missed them and needed this little breather. Dang, I get talkative when I'm tired...sorry about that.


	80. Sandor: Til Death Do Us Part

He woke to a gentle shaking, a gentle voice, a gentle touch.

“Sandor? Sandor, wake up. The bells are ringing.” Her voice, a soft song in his ears, filled with love and care. Her hand was on his cheek, his scarred cheek. She didn’t shy away from it, he wasn’t sure if she even saw it anymore. When was the last time she had shrunk in horror from his face? He couldn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. That was from  _before._ Before his life with Sansa, there was nothing but darkness. She was the fire that brought him back to life.  _The only fire I will ever accept._ She was the sun that lit his world. He was forever grateful for that. Today was the day he would repay the faith of whatever gods had brought her into his life.

“I’m awake, little bird. Just enjoying a few moments alone with my wife before I go kill my brother.” He was smiling as he said it. He pulled her close, his eyes still closed. She still smelled faintly of her lemons and lilacs, but her own scent was strong and he filled his lungs with it. “Even locked away in a cell, and you still manage to be a lady.”

“Hmm?” Her arms were wrapped around his neck now. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t reek.”

“Sandor!” She tried to pull away from him, but he held tight. She huffed and pouted. He knew she wasn’t really mad at him, but her maidenly sensibilities wouldn’t let him get away with it completely. “You’re incorrigible. I’ve only been in here two days!” She settled for flicking him on the nose. “I’ll have you know that I was quite clean to begin with. And I washed myself with the leftover drinking water, right before they changed it out for the day.”

“Smart little bird.”

“Well, I couldn’t just sit in my own sweat. I even washed my clothes a little, just enough to get rid of the stink, but I only had so much to work with.”

They both heard the bells ringing again. He sighed heavily. “The guards will be coming for you. I better get going. Give me a kiss.”

“For luck?”

“Aye, that too. Your kisses are magic. Just one, and I’ll be able to send my brother flying towards the heavens.” She smiled and kissed him, putting all her feelings into it. 

He could still feel the pressure of her lips on his as he walked towards the arena, meeting up with Oberyn at the entrance.

“You look much better now, my friend,” the prince said. “You are ready?”

“Yes, I do believe I am,” Sandor replied.


	81. Tyrion: The Mountain and The Viper and the Hound

Ceremonial fire pits were placed around the edge of the designated arena area, located in the outer ward of the Red Keep. In between each stood the banners of all the houses involved, with the Lannister banner for Lord Tywin standing as the most prominent. Tyrion’s was tiny in comparison, though he didn’t mind at all.  _It’s more like me, even if Cersei didn’t intend it as such._

He was placed with Sansa and Oberyn’s paramour, Ellaria. Oberyn and Sandor were standing with them, preparing for impending fight. Sandor’s squire, Saul, was sharpening a sword along with another squire, who was sharpening the blade at the end of a spear. The two young men focused on their tasks, ignoring the chatter around them. Dontos was nowhere to be seen. Tyrion had been dismayed to see the leather armor and thin copper plating protecting the Red Viper of Dorne and had said as much. The Hound had raised an eyebrow, making Tyrion think that the man had already mentioned it to the prince. Ellaria looked very nervous when the Mountain made his appearance.

“You’re going to fight  _that?_ ” she exclaimed. Tyrion didn’t blame her, he had grown up knowing the Mountain, he was still balking over the fight today.

“We’re going to kill that, or at least one of us is. It depends on who draws him. I may have to fight one of the other champions for the Hand, though I do not see them,” Oberyn replied, taking a last sip of his wine and offering it to the Hound. The man took a drink, but it wasn’t as much as Oberyn had taken. Tyrion gulped nervously.  _Well, this is off to a great start._

“Just remember what I told you,” Sandor growled at the prince. “If he does remember, he won’t admit to anything, unless he knows he can turn the tables on you. Gregor will not bend, so you must break him. Do not allow him even a bloody inch, or he will take the entire distance.”

Oberyn nodded sullenly and then asked, “Where is the third champion on our side? My offer to the fool was not accepted, so I assume he found one himself.”

“Here comes Dontos,” Tyrion said as he pointed. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” The man was in chains still, but also armor. 

Dontos nodded to them, but the fear was plain in his eyes. No one said a word, not even the courteous Sansa. 

Grand Maester Pycelle walked into the center of the arena to the sound of trumpets. “My lords and ladies,” he said in his feeble voice. “Since there are now three champions for the defending party, the choice for three champions was given to the crown. Queen Regent Cersei has left the decision up to her chosen champion, Ser Gregor Clegane. He has decided that no others are needed, he will fight all three of the defense’s champions himself, in a three on one battle.”  _Well, his arrogance is their gain. Hopefully. The man has been at war for several months now, though if I remember correctly, his strength wins more for him than actual strategy._

Pycelle continued, “Now, in the sights of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of these men and this woman, Tyrion Lannister, Dontos Hollard, and Sansa Clegane.”

Tyrion saw the Mountain’s head whip around at the mention of Sansa.  _I guess he hadn’t heard about his brother’s good fortune._ He didn’t like the way the Mountain stared at the red-haired beauty. He barely heard Pycelle’s prayer to each individual god. The man made devotion sound like a chore anyway. Maybe it was just his imagination, he sincerely hoped it was, but he thought he saw a gleam of lust and determination as the Mountain stared at his goodsister. Tyrion wondered if he should point this out to the Hound, but the trumpets were sounding again, and the champions were called into the center of the arena.

Ellaria whispered a few words to Oberyn, while Sansa held hands with the Hound. Tyrion tried not to eavesdrop on either couple, but he did notice Sansa kiss a small piece of grey cloth that Clegane then tucked into his armor.  Never took him for one who kept tokens, but I suppose if it was his wife who is giving it.

Dontos stood between the Hound and the Viper as they walked. His chains rattled as he shuffled along.  _I hope Gregor doesn’t torture him too much._ There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Dontos would die that day.

Oberyn did a very fancy show with his spear as he twirled around the arena, to which the crowds cheered, and the Hound rolled his eyes. Dontos watched, his armor starting to clink as he shook from fear. Oberyn turned to the Mountain, “Have they told you who I am?” Tyrion wanted to throttle the man, was about to shout to him to shut up and just fight.

Sandor beat him to it, “Just stick ‘em with your damn pointy stick, you bloody show off!” He lunged at his brother, their swords striking each other with such clamor that Tyrion could hear a ringing in his ears afterwards. Blow after powerful blow, first from Sandor, then Oberyn, who managed to get in between the plates of Gregor’s armor to pierce his skin. The Mountain was able to hold them both off easily.  _They’ll never win unless they work together! Even I can see it, their efforts are helping the Mountain more than themselves._

Dontos was waddling on the edge of the battle, and when Gregor knocked both Sandor and Oberyn aside as if they were paper dolls, he was easy pickings for the Mountain That Rides. It wasn’t the Mountain’s most triumphant victory, nor was it his most gruesome. He simply slid his sword down into Donto’s exposed face, that great sword that was wider than most men’s hand spans, and pulled it back out again. It was a pathetic, yet quick and quiet death, for one of the most unworthy men to have ever been knighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... Good news and bad news. Bad news first: This chapter is 1/4 of the great Cleganebowl. Love that term. GOOD NEWS: There are three more chapters today! Yes, that means the entire battle is available for your reading pleasure. I couldn't tell the entire battle in one POV like it was done in the books. Way too much going on, but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of the story either. Artist integrity and all that. Regular one chapter a day updates resume tomorrow. 


	82. Sandor: The Last Time

It shouldn’t have been funny, and it wasn’t, but Sandor couldn’t help but laugh when Dontos died. It was the insanity of the moment he supposed. He had taken on his brother before, when he saved Ser Loras at the Tourney of the Hand, and here he was again, fighting the man who burned him, the man that made his life hell as a child. The man who had just knocked both him and Oberyn away in one strike.

“Is something funny about that man’s death?” Oberyn asked, getting back on his feet.

“No, not particularly. Look, we’re never going to make any headway against Gregor like this. We’re fighting ourselves  _for_ him. Any suggestions?”

“None. You?” the prince asked.

“Think you can follow along?” Sandor asked. Oberyn nodded. “Then follow my lead. Divide and conquer. You hit him high, I’ll hit him low. And when I say back off, then  _back the fuck off_.”

Gregor had pulled his sword out of Donto’s face, the blood dripping a trail as he walked away from the body. Guards standing on the sidelines rushed in to pull the body away.

He expanded his senses, allowing himself to breath deep, focusing on the two men in the arena with him, and then, Sandor charged at his brother. For such a huge man, the Mountain was quick, but Sandor was quicker, and Oberyn was lightning. Sandor feigned a lunge at his brother’s legs, the Dornishman was right behind him, hidden from the Mountain’s view. Sandor spun under Gregor’s raised arm as Oberyn distracted him, leaping up and plunging the spear blade into Gregor’s neck. In one fluid motion, Oberyn pushed off the Mountain’s chest with his feet, somersaulting through the air, narrowly escaping the swing of the great sword. His inertia was too strong to stop where he landed, and he flipped into a back handspring, finally stopping well out of the Mountain’s reach. Oberyn charged him now, deflecting the great sword easily with the spear staff, pushing the spear blade in between the armor plates as Sandor came from behind, putting all his strength into pushing his own sword to the back of Gregor’s knees, feeling the steel bite through the protective layers, but not knowing how far it went through. Many people would later claim that the earth shook in all of King’s Landing as the Mountain fell to the ground.

Oberyn was on top of him before Sandor could stop him, kicking off the Mountain’s helmet and driving the spear blade deep into the man’s upper chest. The great sword had clattered to the ground far from fighters. He heard the Dornishman hiss, “I want to hear you confess, before I kill you. My sister, Elia, wife to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, you raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children.”

Gregor stared at Oberyn without emotion.  _I don’t think he even remembers. He’s killed so many, innocent and evil alike, it was probably just another day for him,_ Sandor thought sadly.

Oberyn was ranting now, saying it over and over, louder each time, “Say her name! Elia Martell! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!” Another blade appeared in Oberyn’s hand, hidden in one of his sleeves Sandor guessed. He held it to Gregor’s throat, “Say her name!” 

Sandor could sense his brother’s anger before it showed, “Get back, you fool!” he yelled at Oberyn, but it was too late.

Gregor’s fist whipped up into the side of Oberyn’s head, teeth sent flying. The tables had turned before Sandor could even blink. Gregor was on top of Oberyn, his thumbs pressed into the prince’s eye sockets. Oberyn was screaming, as Gregor said, “ _Elia Martell. I killed her children. Then I--_ ”

Another blink of the eye, and the Mountain was sprawled out in front of him, the prince of Dorne lay behind him, still screaming, but still alive. 

Sandor pulled off his own helmet and tossed it over to wear Tyrion, Ellaria and Sansa sat. His wife, his beautiful, strong, little wife, gathered it up, and placed it on her lap. 

Turning back to his mean cunt of a brother, he glared at the man on his back. “That’s the last time, Gregor,” he swore as he brought his sword down onto Gregor’s head.


	83. Sansa: Not One Inch

She held the Hound helmet nervously on her lap, her manacles clinking against the hard steel, as she watched Sandor raise his sword and bring it down swiftly, intending to cut Gregor’s head in two. Her heart leapt into her throat when that monstrous hand caught the sword instead. His other hand reached for Sandor, but ever quicker, he jumped back in time, pulling his sword free. The Mountain pulled himself to his feet, stumbling a little, but regaining his balance and pulling the spear from his chest. Blood seeped out in a river as he tossed the spear to the side.

He advanced on Sandor, who kept his distance, circling around until both he and Gregor were a good distance away from Oberyn. The Dornishman was holding his hands to his wounded eyes. Guards had to hold Ellaria back, keeping her from going to her lover. Sansa’s heart went out to her.  _Please Sandor, finish him quickly so we can help Oberyn!_ If the prince died before Gregor, Tyrion would be declared guilty. Sansa could only pray that Sandor had rescued him before Gregor had injured him beyond hope. 

The two men were closer to their little group now, enough so that Sansa could just make out the words being exchanged between them.

“Nice little whore you got there, pup. Once I kill you, think I’ll take her for myself. She’ll need consoling once you’re gone. Get her with a litter yet?”

Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, a growl rumbling in her throat as her other hand gripped the Hound helmet by its ear.

“You’ll never get yer grubby hands on her, Gregor.” Sandor’s voice echoed her growl. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea,  _pup!_ ” Gregor lunged, grabbing Sandor’s sword in both hands. Even without his great sword, the Mountain That Rides was a mighty killer.  He’s not even worthy of being called a warrior. He’s a murderer, plain and simple.

Gregor tore the sword from Sandor’s hands and shoved him. Sandor went sailing backward, skidding across the stone floor of the arena. 

“No!” she screamed.

Gregor turned to Sansa, approaching her slowly. She rose from her seat defiantly, holding the Hound helmet to her side protectively.  _I will not give him ONE inch._ Despite her height, she had always felt small next to Sandor. Next to Gregor, she felt miniscule, but she stood her ground. She reached for the cup Oberyn and Sandor had drunk from earlier, took a long sip and then sprayed it into Gregor’s face. He laughed a deep laugh, so like Sandor’s, but without the warmth and humor.

“You’ve got spirit, wench. I’ll break that.” He grinned at her, extending his arm to...do what, she wasn’t sure, but now she stepped aside, knocking into the stand that held the Martell banner. It teetered dangerously, but came back to swing to the other side, waving its tail in Gregor’s face. Unfortunately for Gregor, when Sansa had knocked the banner, it had dipped into the nearby fire pit. It had not ignited, the ends were only burning embers, but when it touched his face, now soaked by the Dornish wine, it exploded into flames, engulfing his entire head in mere seconds. He screamed, attempting in vain to back away from the flames.


	84. Gregor: The Goddess Of Vengeance Is Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop! This is the fourth chapter to be uploaded today! Did you read chapters 81-83 yet?
> 
> **********

The redheaded wench watched him as he tried to extinguish the flames, but they were spreading quicker than he could do so. He sunk to his knees. He forgot the fight. He forgot the Imp. He forgot his brother. He forgot everything but the pain and the condemning goddess in front of him. The heat was distorting his vision. Her hair, it was  _flames,_ billowing around her, daring him to try touching her again. Her eyes burned with vengeance as she looked down on him, holding the damned dog helmet in one hand and that damned goblet in the other. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and she was an angry, avenging goddess of fire. He had wanted her, had seen that his brother had touched her flame and come back unscathed. He had wanted to ravage her, turn that anger to fear, hear her screams, extinguish that flame, watch it die in her eyes. He reached for her again.  _Put it out! Take it away!_

“Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” he heard his brother rasp as the pup circled around him, taking away his view of the fire goddess.

_Yes, yes it does_ , he thought as he saw the pup raise the Dornish cunt’s spear and plunge it straight down into his skull.

_Damn insolent pup,_ was his last thought.


	85. Sandor: Dismissed On All Accounts

He watched his brother’s body go limp as the life left him. Sandor kicked the burning lump of flesh that was Gregor so that the corpse landed on the ground away from him. The crowd was roaring, but he knew it was because of fight, and not because they backed his reason for fighting.  _Bloody idiots. They’d be cheering for Gregor if it was me and the Dornishman lying dead._ He looked over at Oberyn. The man’s lover and one of the castle maesters were hovering over him, as well as Tyrion. Ellaria looked hopeful as the maester spoke soft words to her. 

He turned, just in time, to catch Sansa as she threw herself at him. One of the guards had unchained her. Another was moving to Tyrion to remove his irons. Sansa was smiling at him, giddy as he held her a few inches above the ground. “I knew you could do it!”

He laughed, feeling more free than he had since he had accepted the fact that his little bird had burrowed her way past his thorns and made a nest around his heart.

“Aye, I told you, magic kisses,” he whispered, and gave her some magic back.

**********

King Tommen met with them in the throne room to make the formal statement. Sansa and Tyrion stood before the throne. Brienne and the kids were standing in the audience. Sandor stood behind Sansa, and Ellaria stood behind Tyrion, as a representative of Oberyn, who would never see again, but would make a full recovery otherwise. The two defendants had been allowed to clean up and change clothing. Tyrion was looking sharp in his mourning outfit of black velvet, but Sansa was radiant in her yellow and black gown.

“Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lady Sansa Clegane,” the king’s small voice said loudly, if a bit rehearsed, “You are hereby acquitted of the charge of murdering Lord Tywin Lannister. While there was the question on if interference by the defendant Sansa Clegane should negate the outcome, it is our opinion that it was by the will of the gods, and not a planned outcome. The former knight, Dontos Hollard, will go down in the records as the only responsible party for the tragic death of the Hand of the King. The court apologizes for any hardship you have had to endure during your trials, and we hope you will not think unkindly of our reign.” The little boy looked over to Margaery, who gave him a nod of approval. He beamed at her, and turned that bright smile back to the people before him.

Tyrion bowed, Sansa curtsied, and the matter was dismissed. She walked calmly back to his side, but he could tell she was just hiding the energetic happiness just below her surface. He escorted her out of the throne room, the next item of business was already underway. Ellaria had run off to be by Oberyn’s side again, and Tyrion was walking away with Bronn.

“Care for a stroll around the Keep, my lady?” Sandor asked Sansa. She gave him a surprised look. “For old time’s sake. Been awhile since we walked the halls, just the two of us. Or we could just go straight to our room.” He heard a chuckle from behind them and turned.

“I’ll take that as my cue to get the kids, well, somewhere else. Have fun, you two,” Brienne smiled as she walked away.

Sandor looked back at Sansa. She smiled, “I think we have her approval.”

“Like I bloody needed it,” he scoffed. “But I just remembered, I owe you for your cocky attitude this morning. Our chambers will be completely empty right now, what with Bronn delivering Tyrion’s  _gift_ to his rooms. I’ll give you a right  _proper_ scolding, but I’ll give you a choice. You can receive your  _scolding_ on the balcony from behind, or against the wall from the front. I’m partial to the wall, one near a window so I can see you bathed in sunlight as I  _scold_ you until you come undone. Though the balcony is tempting too, letting the entire city know you have been  _properly_ chastised.” He grinned as she blushed and dragged him down the hallway, grateful that his little wife was just as lusty as him. 


	86. Tyrion: Trussed Up Like A Turkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: MARKED IN BOLD

After waving to Jaime standing behind the king, Tyrion left the throne room with a considerable bounce in his step. Bronn was quick to follow him. “You’re looking well,” the sellsword noted.

“Can’t say I don’t feel well,” Tyrion replied. The only thing that could make this day better was if Shae was waiting for him back in his rooms, wearing nothing but the vest he had worn when they first met. His steps slowed and his smile faded.  _Shae. She’s gone._

Bronn might have sensed what was troubling him, because he said, “I got you a ‘glad you weren’t convicted’ present. Me and some other folks, but I did the brunt of the work for it. It’s in your rooms.”

“Thank you, Bronn, that was very kind of you, and the others. Lady and Lord Clegane?” Tyrion gave him a half-hearted smile. He wanted to be happy, as he had been only five minutes ago, but remembering that Shae was gone had cast him into a well of sadness and regret. 

“Aye, also Brienne and the kids. The Hound wasn’t sure it was the right thing, but Lady Sansa,” Bronn touched his ear, smiling at a memory, “She, ah, she insisted on it. She’s a fiery one, ain’t she?”

Tyrion remembered how she had stood up to Gregor, literally spitting in his face, and smiled, “You have no idea. Well, let’s go see this gift of yours. I hope it’s wine. A good, strong vintage. I need to get very, very drunk. Even if it’s not wine, I’ll send Pod out for some. We can all get drunk. That is my plan, and I don’t care if you say no, you’re getting drunk, too.”

“Why would I say no?” Bronn was genuinely confused.

Brienne passed by him, with the three children surrounding her. Tyrion called out to her, “Lady Brienne!” She slowed, though the kids only gave him a quick glance and kept on going. He smiled as he reached her, and said, “Come join us this evening in my chambers. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk in celebration. Jaime will probably be there and--”

Brienne’s face turned pink, “Oh, no, I couldn’t impose, I’m sorry, my lord. I should, um, get going. Congratulations,” she called out as she hurried away.

Tyrion turned to Bronn, “I thought she and Jaime were friends?”

“Seemed friendly enough earlier today,” he replied nonchalantly. “Maybe he said something that upset her?”

“Sounds like something he would do. Oh, no…” Cersei was striding up to him, followed closely by Gyles Rosby, a man he was passably acquainted with. “You’re looking lovely today, Cersei. Black is very becoming on you.”

“As it is on you, little brother. Makes you look a tad taller. Have you met Gyles?” She waved her hand at the man. 

“Good to see you again, Lord Rosby. Your cough is sounding better,” Tyrion said, bowing his head in greeting.

“Thank you, I’ve been feeling much better as of late--”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Cersei interrupted. “Here’s the good part, little brother, Lord Gyles is our new Master of Coin, though we will now be calling the office Lord Treasurer. He’s agreed to take the position over.”

Tyrion frowned, “But--”

“Need I remind you, little brother, you may have been acquitted of the charges, but you were appointed by the late Hand of the King. I am perfectly within my rights to remove you from your office and give the position to someone else. You’ll need to move out of the chambers you’re currently in, seeing as how they belong to the Lord Gyles now. I’ve already arranged for it, everything will be out of there by evening. Haven’t found a new set of rooms for you yet, but I’m sure something will turn up soon.” 

“Uh, I’ll just go supervise that, m’lord. Wouldn’t want them nicking your good wine, now would we?” Bronn said before running off. 

_Good idea, got to keep our priorities straight,_ thought Tyrion.

“In the mean time, why don’t you accompany me to my chambers and we can discuss what your future will be here in King’s Landing?” She turned and walked away, leaving Tyrion to bid farewell to Lord Gyles and totter off after her.

**********

“Sit here,” she said, offering him a chair. She was being remarkably agreeable, which made him wary as he took the proffered seat. He would normally chalk it up to the fact that she had just taken away not only his job but also his sanctuary, but he had the feeling that something else was going on. She had been off-kilter since before Robert died, and her decline had only increased its pace after she witnessed their father’s agonizing death, followed by her son’s gruesome, but fitting end.

He should have asked that someone else join them, Bronn, maybe Jaime, hell, even Gyles would have been a welcome sight when he felt the rope slip around him and tighten. Cersei quickly rounded him to tied his wrists and ankles to the chair as well. Oberyn’s story suddenly came to mind, about how eight-year-old Cersei had once twisted newborn Tyrion’s little cock so hard, the prince thought she would tear it right off. Fear crept into his voice as he said, “While I’m sure your lovers don’t mind this sort of foreplay, this really isn’t my thing.” He forced a chuckle, trying to keep his cool but failing.

Cersei smiled at him. “I know you did it. I don’t know how, but I know it was you.”

“What? You’ll have to be more specific, what did I do?” he asked as bravely as he could. He really didn’t like the look in her eyes. During his imprisonment, very late at night, Jaime had told him about Aerys and the truth about his kingslaying. The way he had described the mad king could easily have been applied to Cersei right now. That realization made him want to wet himself from fear.

She must have seen it, because as he opened his mouth to yell for help, she stuffed a gag into it, tying it securely behind his head.

“First, you ship off my daughter, selling her to those... _Dornish_ imbeciles, then you kill not only Father, but also my son! Do you really think I can ignore the threat you pose to the family? To my children?! But that just brings us to the heart of the matter,  _valonqar,_ your future here in King’s Landing. I just don’t see it happening.” She leaned in so close that Tyrion had to turn his head to the side, but he could still smell the sour stench of alcohol and wine sweat rolling off her. 

_Depression and drinking in excess do not suit her well,_ he thought. Her face was so close that he could see the fine lines etched into her face, how her once sharply beautiful features were becoming rounded. It saddened him. He had never liked Cersei, but he had held her in a certain regard, for of all the Lannisters, she was the most proud of their lineage and she had always taken great care in her appearance. 

Speaking as well as he possibly could through the gag, he said, “Cersei, I swear to you, I did not--”

“Save your lies,  _valonqar._ I won’t believe any of it. I’m going to go find Jaime and tell him that you decided to leave the capital. He might try to follow you, get you to come back, but you will be long gone. Any trail he follows will be folly, because you will stay right here, in this room. If he does try to go after you, it will make the next part so much easier. You see, Qyburn really wanted to used the Mountain for some experiments, especially when he saw that the man wouldn’t have survived that fight even if he did win. He possesses such an extraordinary intellect, you know, he could see what was going on just by watching. He told me of his ideas as the fight escalated, but then that fleabitten traitor of a brother of his went and killed him outright. So there went Qyburn’s experiment. He wanted Gregor because he believed it would take that man’s strength to survive the ideas in his head. Taking that into consideration, you will be given to Qyburn. If you somehow manage to survive, you will be changed, and will much,  _much_ more agreeable. Either way, I win, and prevent you from doing further damage to my family.”

“They are my family, too,” Tyrion protested, though still muffled. That earned him a glare from Cersei.

“No, they are  _not,_ ” she hissed and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Hours passed. The sunlight faded to orange and then to darkness. No maids came to light the fireplace or light candles, how could they with the door locked and Cersei probably had the only key.  _From one prison to another. If I wasn’t doomed to die, I would have a coin minted for every prison I’ve been in and make a necklace out of it. Or a belt, would that be too much? Jaime would give me an honest answer._

He dozed a while. The chair was actually quite comfortable, even if he couldn’t move and the night air had a slight chill to it. His velvet doublet kept him reasonably warm. His mouth was dry from the gag, and he dreamt of wine waterfalls. A scraping of stone woke him. It was a soft sound, barely audible in the silence, but was consistent until he realized it was from a hidden door in one of the walls being opened. He couldn’t see it, but Varys had popped up unexpectedly so many times that it was the first place his mind went. He was about to speak, or at least make a noise of some sort, when the regular non-hidden door opened suddenly. He prayed that Varys stayed hidden, that he closed the door and waited. The room became a flurry of activity, but it was by Cersei and Cersei alone. She fluttered around the room, lighting candles all over, warm yellow light slowly filling the chamber. Tyrion saw all the walls now, and no hidden door was apparent.  _Maybe I imagined it?_

Cersei finished her task, and was now twirling around the room, her black dress billowing out as she bumped into furniture, giggling every time she knocked something over completely.  _Oh gods, she’s completely drunk. She’s Robert’s level of drunk. I can smell the stench of it from here._

“Little brother! Jaime’s left the city already. He’s chasing your ghost trail down to Casterly Rock. By the time he gets there and back, you will have been transported to the black cells, condemned to Qyburn’s experiment to either die or be reborn as a loyal subject to the crown. You will never be found again, no matter what. You will cease to be a burden on the family, on the crown, on me. Someone will be by later to take you down there. The castle is still too busy.” She drew out a small knife, too small to even be considered a dagger. Tracing the blade’s edge along the seam on the front of his pants, she continued, “You know, I’ve always wondered what became of your little worm. The talk at the trial got me curious again. We have some time, so let’s see what exactly it is that you offer to all the whores.” Using the knife, she cut open his pants, ignoring his whimpers. He squeezed his eyes shut. Somehow, she managed to not cut open his flesh as well, though he felt the flat of the small blade against his skin more than once. “Surely this cannot grow to be bigger than Jaime’s,” her voice dripped with disdain. “I don’t think it could be bigger than Lancel’s, for that matter.” 

**She began to stroke him. He shuddered from the revulsion of her touch. “Sister, please, stop this. This isn’t right,” he whispered.**

**“Funny, that’s what Jaime said the first time, too. He got hard a lot faster though. This is just a weak pile of flesh. Should I use my mouth instead?” Tyrion felt the bile rise in his throat. “Ugh, but looking at your face...hmm.” He heard the soft rustling of fabric and then felt it as Cersei covered his head with it. “There, much better. Easier to pretend you’re not the little monster this way.” She gripped him again. When he still did not harden to her touch, she squeezed hard. He whimpered, in pain this time.**

**“You’re hurting me,” he gasped through the gag and fabric.**

**He could practically feel Cersei’s smile, “It’s just the wine. I had one, two, possibly three flagons of it at dinner, and another with your friend Bronn. He was trying to find you, asking me all these questions. The wine made him forget.” She squeezed his limp cock again, twisting it until he cried out. “I am the queen. I mean to take my rights.”**

**“Please, sister, please do not do this,” he begged, tears streaming down his face, but she could not see them. Pain was exploding in him, he couldn’t even tell exactly what she was doing anymore.**

“Do you know Lady Taena Merryweather? She’s normally my bedmate, but I told her I needed some alone time tonight. Can’t have her seeing you when you’re supposed to be gone, now can I? No one knows you’re here, no one will be by to save you. No one--”

Cersei was suddenly cut off, her hands left his cock and he heard the “oomf” as Cersei was pulled back by an unseen assailant, his savior. He heard the struggle, the hissed whispers, “Don’t even think about it, you bitch.” Was that Cersei? Or his savior? It was hard to tell through the fabric covering his head. Someone yelped, someone cursed, someone kicked over a table, sending a vase to the floor, shattering on impact. Someone was attempting to talk, but like him, was now gagged.  _Who?! Who is it? Sister or Savior?_

Muffled screams came from his right, more hissed whispers, but these he could not make out. He had a feeling that they were threats. The screams became sobbing, then crying. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for that person or not.  _Sister or Savior? Certainly not Varys._ The ropes binding him suddenly loosened and he was able to get up, but immediately fell again. His blood felt sluggish and he couldn’t feel his limbs. Strong arms pulled him up and helped him across the room. He was turned around when they stopped moving, the fabric pulled from his head and he saw what had happened.

His sister was on the floor, her arms and legs tied behind her like a trussed up bird at a feast, her hair tangled in the knots, keeping her head up and off the floor. It looked extremely painful. She was gagged and blindfolded, her face was covered in blood. His Savior had cut her face multiple times, but only one was deep enough to really require treatment.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and was suddenly pulled into darkness, as the hidden door swung shut in front of him.


	87. Cersei: Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE CHAPTER

Wrapping her hands around her brother’s little pink cock should have been distasteful, but she felt the familiar rush that she had only ever felt with Jaime. No other lover had ever made her feel that way, so it was frustrating that Tyrion’s little worm was not rising as she had thought it would. She had high expectations, after all.

“Please, sister, please do not do this,” he begged. He did not mean it, they never did. She pinched the tip with her fingernails.

“Do you know Lady Taena Merryweather? She’s normally my bedmate, but I told her I needed some alone time tonight. Can’t have her seeing you when you’re supposed to be gone, now can I? No one knows you’re here, no one will be by to save you. No one--”

A gag fell into her mouth as someone strong pulled her away from Tyrion. She struggled to protest, but the gag was more effective than the one she had given Tyrion. Her hands were pulled behind her and tied. She tried to headbutt the assailant with the back of her head. The person yelped in surprise, but Cersei only met air. The gag tightened as the person grabbed it and hissed in her ear, “Don’t even think about it, you bitch.” Her ankles were next to be tied, but she managed to free one. She tried to kick, but only knocked over an end table and her favorite vase went crashing to the floor. A hand grabbed the back of her head and shoved her face into the rug. She struggled in vain. Her ankles were finally secured and then she felt them being pulled up as the rope binding them was joined to the ones holding her hands. Tears fell from the excruciating pain.  No! Stop! I am the Queen! You can’t do this to me!

She felt someone sit on her back, thread their fingers through her hair and pull until her neck strained against it. She still could not see who was attacking her. “Next time you want to bully someone, pick on someone your own size,” came the angry hiss. “You call him a monster, but you’re the true monster, giving a boy like Joffrey free reign. Letting a man like the Mountain roam around the country, killing, pillaging and raping his way through your people. Trying to rape your own brother when he clearly doesn’t want your touch.”

_Men can’t be raped,_ Cersei thought. Her head was pulled back more, but the gag stifled her cry. 

“Let me guess, you just thought that ‘men can’t be raped’. Guess again. I am quite fond of that man, and I made him a promise. If you ever come near him again, I will cut your withered cunt like I’m about to cut your face. If I so much as see your pretty blonde curls anywhere near him, I will make you wish for the Mountain’s touch, because it will seem  _tender_ compared to what I will do to you.”

The cold steel pressed against her skin.  _Surely they jest. They wouldn’t do it._ Then the steel bit into her flesh. She gasped, nearly sucking down part of the gag and choking on it. A chuckle, “You think that was painful? Did you not give birth to three children? That was just a love scratch, whore queen.” 

Cersei’s eyes went wide as the attacker etched lines on each side of her face. She screamed against the gag, her throat soon raw and hoarse. “Last cut, whore,” the voice whispered. Deeper than the rest, she thought she felt the knife scrape against her cheek bone as it sliced her open. Her face burned, her back ached, she couldn’t feel her hands or feet, and all she wanted was for Jaime to come save her. A blindfold was placed harshly over her eyes, causing new shocks of pain as it was tightened without regard for her open wounds. Her cries were ignored as she heard shuffling. Her attacker was freeing Tyrion from his bindings, taking him away.  Where are you going? Come back! Don’t leave me like this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> I thought the assailant was pretty obvious when I wrote it, but it will be revealed soon enough. Kind of doing a 'Memento' thing with this event. 


	88. Sansa: Rescue Is At Hand

Sandor was snoring on their bed. His fight earlier and then his "chastisement" of her had really worn him out. Sansa smiled as she wrapped her robe around herself. Arya had left for Braavos right after Sansa had been cleared of the murder charge. Luckily, the younger Stark had caught her sister before she and her husband made it to their chambers. She had refused to let Sansa or even Sandor accompany her to the docks, preferring to say her goodbyes then and there, but had acquiesced to Brienne escorting her. 

Sansa hummed an old love ballad as she sat at her vanity brushing her hair, wondering if Tyrion liked his present. She smiled. Shae had been ecstatic to learn that she would able to see Tyrion again. She had helped Sansa change to be presented to King Tommen, and then Sansa in turn had helped Shae get ready to meet Tyrion. Bronn was going to sneak her into Tyrion’s quarters while everyone was in the throne room.

_A happy reunion, I’m sure._

An insistent knocking sounded at the door. Startled, Sansa put down her brush and crept to the bedchamber door. She peeked out, watched Saul answer it, and was shocked to see Shae and Bronn burst in. 

“What’s going on?” she heard rumble behind her. Sandor was pulling on pants, though he left himself shirtless. Sansa tilted her head, admiring the view for a moment. 

“Not sure,” she replied. “Bronn and Shae just arrived, without Tyrion.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what is it now?” Sandor stormed out, but Shae soon came in. 

“My lady!” she wailed, throwing herself into Sansa’s arms.

“Shae! Dear, sweet, funny Shae, what happened? Where’s Lord Tyrion?” Sansa asked gently.

“I don’t know. Bronn doesn’t know. Ser Jaime doesn’t know. Lord Rosby doesn’t know. Queen Cersei doesn’t know. No one does!”

Sansa frowned. “Lord Rosby? Cersei? What do they have to do with it?”

Shae sat on the heavy trunk at the foot of the bed. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing, but they were the last ones to see my Tyrion. Rosby says he saw him follow Cersei to discuss matters of state. Cersei says she told Tyrion he would no longer be Master of Coin, and that he left in a huff, saying something about taking over Casterly Rock. Ser Jaime and little Podrick went after him, but it doesn’t sound right! He wouldn’t leave like that. He just wouldn’t!” Shae folded her arms around her midsection, frustrated over the lack of information.

“You’re right, Shae. Tyrion wouldn’t leave like that, no matter how angry he was.” Sansa sat next to her, deep in thought.  _If Cersei is involved, she was probably lying about Tyrion leaving to begin with. It’s obvious she hates her brother, but would she go so far as to make him disappear?_

Sandor returned. “Bronn is going after Jaime. He told me of his conversation with Cersei, how she attempted to drink him under the table when he started asking questions. The bitch didn’t even notice he barely touched his wine. What she said though...makes me wonder if the Imp isn’t being held captive now.”

“You suspect that of her?”

“How could I not? She’s a fucking idiot who believes she’s Tywin Lannister with teats. What she’s up to, however, that is beyond me.” He looked chagrined by this fact. 

A small voice interrupted them. “M’lord, a message,” Gar said. 

He growled, “Well, what is it?”

The boy shook his head, “Not for you, m’lord, for m’lady’s maid.”

Shae stood up, confused, “For me? From who?”

“Didn’t leave his name. He was bald. Wore silk. Said to tell you ‘behind the dresser, two lefts and then a right will take you to the long way. Skip four, then up one, another long way, skip two, then a right will take you to the missing. Oh, and that he would be back once the task is complete.”

Shae stared at him. “You’re sure? He said exactly that?”

“Yes. Made me repeat it twice.” Gar looked up at her. “You understand it?”

Shae smiled and hugged him. “Yes, my little one. Now, go to bed. It’s late.”

He smiled at her, then bowed to Sandor and Sansa, and left the room. Shae closed the door behind him.

“M’lord, m’lady, forgive me, but I must disturb your privacy.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked. Shae looked down at her hands, then up at Sansa. 

“M’lord, if you would please, the dresser, would you move it to the side?” 

Sandor looked to Sansa, who nodded her approval. The dresser was made of heavy oak, and full of Sansa’s clothes, but Sandor was able to move it to the side as requested, with only a little difficulty. Shae walked up to the bare wall behind it. Sliding her hand over the grey stones, she seemed to be looking for something. “M’lady, look here.” Sansa looked. Shae was pointing to a small scratch on the stone. It almost looked like a cross mark, but it was worn and faded. “This is the symbol to look for. If you find this symbol, then you do this, on the stone below it and the one to the right. Push.” The stones slid back from where Shae pressed them, then the wall followed. Or a section of the wall did, opening like a very small door.

“Shae, what is this?” Knowing that such a door existed was not comforting. _Good thing the dresser was in front of it._

Sandor answered, “Tunnels, connecting all over the castle, maybe even to parts outside. Damn me, I had heard the rumors, but no one had ever found any of the entrances.”

Shae smiled, “The Spider found them. Stay here, m’lady. I will be back. Keep a candle lit near the entrance, to help me find my way.”

“What? Where are you going?” Sansa felt the panic rise. This was all a bit much to take in.

“To rescue my Lion,” Shae said, and disappeared into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> Yeah, it was totally Shae. :) 


	89. Brienne: A Child’s Logic

They spent the walk to the Mud Gate in quiet conversation. Brienne didn’t want to see her go, but Lady Sansa had said it was for the best. She had offered to accompany the younger Stark to Braavos, but Arya only laughed. “You’ll do more good by staying with Sansa,” Arya said. “And I have my passage taken care of.” She flipped the coin into the air, catching it before it hit the ground. “Do you?”

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “That little coin is your passage?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Arya jumped up onto the narrow railing and walked alongside Brienne, now tall enough to meet her eyes. “Jaqen said it would. If it doesn’t work, I’ll figure something out. One way or another, I’m getting to Braavos.”

“Must be a Stark trait to be so determined,” Brienne extended her hand to help Arya cross a large gap in the railing. The girl accepted it and leapt gracefully, reminding Brienne of a cat.

“More of a Tully than Stark trait, but Father could be fairly determined if he wanted to.”

“I never met your father, but your mother was one of the most determined people I’ve ever met.”

“Is,” Arya said softly. Brienne didn’t argue. Ever since Arya told her of that dream, she had wanted to believe that Lady Catelyn was still alive, but it was just fantastical.  _I saw Stannis’ shadow kill Renly. Who am I to disbelieve these wolf dreams? The whispers of the Stark line are just as believable as that monster, and far more preferable._

They walked in an amiable silence for a short while. 

“Brienne?”

“Yes?”

Arya stopped and turned to her. “Are you mad at Ser Jaime?”

Startled, Brienne asked, “What makes you think that?”

“You two were thick as thieves until this morning. Then at the combat trial, you walked right past him, didn’t acknowledge him at all, and earlier in the throne room, you didn’t once look at him, but he was looking at you. Whenever he could spare a glance, he would give it to you.” Arya looked at Brienne with her big, sad eyes.

“Why are you so curious about this?” she asked with annoyance. It was not something she wanted to think about right now.

“Because you’re my friend. And you like him. And he likes you. He’s not so bad, I suppose. You could definitely do worse. He kept his promise to Mother, and he gave you that armor,” Arya said thoughtfully.

Brienne sighed and looked into the distance. She could see the bay through the open gate, ships and sails interrupting the horizon. “I know. He’s changed from when I first met him. He’s still arrogant, and selfish, but underneath it all, he has a good heart.”

“So, are you mad at him?” Arya asked again.

“No. I’m mad at myself, I suppose, and just embarrassed in front of him. That’s why I’ve been ignoring him.”

“Want to talk about it? I probably don’t have an answer, but I can listen to you, and I won’t tell anyone. Not even if Ser Ilyn had his sword to my throat.” Arya looked so solemn that Brienne couldn’t help my smile.

“Sure, why not?” Arya sat down on the railing as Brienne leaned against it. “It’s stupid, but he kissed me this morning, before the fight, but I’m not the sort of girl a man like Jaime just _kisses_ for no reason. Don’t give me that look, I know what I’m talking about. I was the target of a very mean spirited bet among the soldiers in Renly’s camp, to see who could bed me first, with the reward being a very large purse. When it came out, I was told that it was the only way anyone would ever touch me. In addition to that, despite what my father would leave to me, no man has been able to stomach the idea of marrying me, except for the one who would have me act ‘more womanly’.” She scoffed at the idea. 

“I’ve had three betrothals, the first one died before I had even flowered, the second broke the betrothal after his first meeting with me, and the third couldn’t best me in combat after his silly insistence. I had long given up the idea of marrying when I joined Renly’s camp, of even being with anyone in that sense really.” It sounded a lot worse when she said it out loud like that. She clenched her jaw, blinking back the wetness she felt in her eyes.

Brienne felt small arms encircle her neck as Arya hugged her. She wiped away a tear and cleared her throat before continuing.

“My point is that I’m not someone who has men lining up for her, much less someone like Jaime who’s used to...um...being around the most beautiful women of the seven kingdoms.” She didn’t want to mention his relationship with Cersei, even if Arya had sworn herself to secrecy.

“So, if you’re such a bad match for Ser Jaime, why do you think he kissed you?” Arya asked quietly. She was still hugging Brienne. Anyone who passing by would probably have found it an odd scene, but no one was even sparing them a glance.

“I don’t know. There’s no reason he should have. He just walked out quietly after he did it, and I was so shocked that I couldn’t move to run after him to ask. Now whenever I see him, I get so embarrassed, I can’t even look at him.”

“Awww, Brienne, he did it ‘cause he likes you! He’s got good tastes in friends. Sure, he’s kingsguard, but you can’t help who you like. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You two are friends, so even if you can’t be together, you should still be able to keep that relationship, right?” Arya was giving her a pained look. “Right?”

“I would hope so. Are you asking for me, or for yourself?” Brienne asked her with a slight grin.

Arya let go of Brienne, suddenly shy. “I may have left a friend behind in the Riverlands. I was angry at him. I regret it now.” She looked up at the sky, the sea breeze playing with the short tendrils of her hair. “I want to see him again, tell him I’m sorry.”

“You might see him again, one day,” Brienne offered.

“Maybe. I hope so. But, for now, you should make up with Jaime in my place. Promise me, Brienne. You’ll fix your friendship. It will give me hope for Gendry.”

Brienne smiled. “I promise. I will fix my friendship with Jaime, in honor of yours with Gendry.”


	90. Arya: The Sea Air Tastes of Freedom

She waved goodbye to Brienne, waiting until the woman had left before speaking with anyone on the docks. She didn’t want Brienne seeing which ship she was leaving on, just in case someone should want to follow her. It was probably overly cautious, but she’d rather be safe than sorry about it. Brienne had understood, though had made Arya promise to come back to the castle if she didn’t find a ship to take her today. It was a promise she could keep, but she didn’t think she would have trouble. After asking around, she found a ship headed to Braavos, though they had a stop in Saltpans before continuing on.

Getting on board the ship was easy enough. Her “Valar morghulis” was answered by the captain’s “Valar dohaeris,” and she was shown to a cabin.

She looked out the porthole. The sun was setting but it was on the opposite side of the “Titan’s Daughter.” 

  
_One day, I will return to Winterfell. For now, to Braavos, to freedom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> Long chapter tomorrow. 


	91. Tyrion: Thanks For All The Fish

He was pulled along the dark passageway, lost if that hand let go of his sleeve.  _How are they able to find their way? My Savior must be half-animal to find their way in this darkness._ A light up a head glowed. The faint sound of voices whispered in his ears.

“--been gone a long time. Should we follow?” a light, feminine voice said.

“No, little bird, we’ll just get lost. Wait a bit longer. I’ll go find the eunuch if I need to. He’s the one that showed us this godsdamned entrance.” The Hound’s voice was unmistakeable.  _Which means the woman’s voice is Sansa,_ Tyrion thought.  _They’re waiting for someone. My Savior? And me?_

He and his Savior soon emerged from the tunnel. The sun was long gone, and only candlelight brightened the room, but it still made him blink after the pitch black of the passageway. Before him stood Sansa and Sandor, gaping at his appearance. Sansa turned bright red and whirled around so that she was no longer facing him. Confused, he turned to the Hound, who looked like he was trying to not laugh and failing.

“ _Imp,_ I would appreciate it if you didn’t expose yourself in front of my wife,” the Hound said with a snort. Tyrion looked down, his flaccid cock was hanging out of the front of his breeches.  _HOW did I not feel that?_ he thought, very embarrassed. He had abandoned the gag somewhere in the darkness, but had completely forgotten about his pants being open. He stuffed it back in, and laced up gingerly. His cock was still sore after Cersei’s treatment of it, probably would be for a while.

“You can turn back around, Sansa, I’m decent. Or decent enough.” Tyrion said ruefully.

Sansa peeked around, scowled at the Hound’s chuckles, then faced Tyrion, still blushing furiously and not really able to meet his eyes. She seemed to be staring somewhere in the vicinity of his forehead.

“Lord Tyrion, I am glad to see you returned safely. Shall I get you some drink or food?”

“Aye, wife, fly away to the safety of your hostess duties,” the Hound said, grinning. Sansa glared at him, but that didn’t stop him. 

“You never mock my duties when I’m being  _dutiful_ to you,” she countered. “Perhaps I should stop?” she asked with an arch in her brow.

The Hound was suddenly contrite. “Erm, no, wouldn’t want that.” Sansa gave him a look that said  _That’s what I thought,_ and marched out of the room, her head held high.

After all he had just been through, it was refreshing to see the two squabble over something silly as being a good hostess. Tyrion smiled. “Nice to see the Hound has a better Master than before.”

The man glared at Tyrion, but did not rebut the statement. He looked past Tyrion and asked, “You just going to stand there all night or are you going to express that rage you’re clearly holding on to?”

_My Savior! They are angry?_ He was about to turn when slender arms suddenly enveloped him. “You’re such a stupid man,” he heard sobbed in his ear. “What if I hadn’t been here? Who would have saved you? Why did you go with her? When are you going to learn you  _can’t trust that woman!_ ”

“Shae?” he asked in disbelief. He felt her nod. “How are you here? Bronn said he stayed with you until the ship left.”

“He did.” She sniffled, “We just weren’t on the ship when it left. We were here. I’ve been hiding in these quarters since you sent me away. M’lady fought for me to stay, though m’lord didn’t think it was a good idea. She protected me. Bronn stayed with me when everyone else had to leave.”

_So that’s what Bronn meant. Damn, I really owe him now._

“Normally, I’d leave you two to work out your differences, but there’s no way in seven hells I’m letting you make up in my bedchamber,” Clegane interjected. Tyrion had forgotten the man was still there.

“Perfectly understandable, Clegane. I would take Shae to my own chambers, but it would seem I no longer have any, nor do I have a job in King’s Landing.”

Sandor frowned, “What are you talking about? You’re the Master of Coin, aren’t you?”

“Sadly, no longer. My dear si--, erm, the Queen Regent has given the position to Lord Gyles Rosby. My possessions are currently being ousted from my former chambers, or maybe have already been put into storage or just thrown in the trash. I’ve been preoccupied, but Bronn would probably know.”

“He’s off collecting the Kingslayer right now. Cersei sent him off after you, said you were going--”

“To Casterly Rock to claim my inheritance. Yes, I’m aware. She mentioned it,” Tyrion said sourly.

The Hound peered down at him with a frown and what could be construed as concern, “What happened in there?”

“The queen is a bitch and got her just desserts, that’s what happened,” Shae spat out, still angry, but Tyrion could tell it was more for him that at him. He thanked every one of the gods by name, even the Stranger, for keeping Shae safe and sending her to his rescue. She still had her arms around him, he noted with content.

Sansa came back in the room. “Gar had already gone down to request food. Apparently, Varys told him it would be a good idea. He just came back with a large tray of cold cuts of meat and bread. If you would, it’s all laid out in the next room.” Shae squeezed Tyrion before letting go and following Sansa.

“I’ll just close this up then,” Sandor muttered, more to himself than Tyrion. He headed back to the open wall.

“Clegane,” Tyrion paused for a moment. Sandor turned. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sandor shrugged, and turned back to closing the doorway. Tyrion gave him a thoughtful look before joining the others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********
> 
> Ok, don't know why I thought that was a long chapter. I think I've been staying up too late recently. It's messing with my brain.


	92. Sandor: Shut The Front Door

The others were in quiet conversation as they ate when he heard the knock at the door. Tyrion hadn’t spoken of what had gone on in Cersei’s room, except to say that the sooner he left the city, the better. Sandor noticed the dead look in his eyes at the mention of his sister, and had not pressed the issue. Sansa must of sensed it too, for she quickly changed the subject to one of the books Tyrion had lent to her before Joffrey’s wedding.

Sandor answered the door, waving off Gar and telling him to go eat more, “You’re too damn skinny. Never be able to hold up a decent sword at this rate.” The boy had merely grinned and returned to sit next to Sansa, a small guard in place of his Master.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Varys on the other side of the door. “Eunuch,” he said, and opened the door wider to let him in. “Expected to see you sooner.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure how long it would take, and I had some things I needed to arrange for. Oh, that looks scrumptious, may I join?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Why not? You wanted to speak to Tyrion, I’m sure.”

Varys scrunched up his mouth in what Sandor assumed was a pout, though not a pretty one. “You’re no fun. Too straight to the point.”

Shutting the door, Sandor looked at him without expression and said, “Just sit down and talk, for fuck’s sake.”

Varys gave a delicate sniff as if offended, but sat at the table in between Shae and Gar, who had scooted over to give Sandor back his seat. “Lord Tyrion, it’s good to see you again.”

“Varys. I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude. You sent Shae for me.” Tyrion bowed his head. “However can I repay you?”

“By leaving King’s Landing.” Varys looked a little sad when he said it.

“That goes without saying,” Tyrion replied. “The Queen will not take kindly to what happened, and will likely call for my head. Not that I regret it,” he looked towards Shae. The handmaiden gave the Imp a sheepish smile and a small shrug.  _Whatever happened, she doesn’t regret it either,_ Sandor thought. Tyrion continued, “but the farther away I am from here, the better. However, I get the feeling you have a particular destination in mind.”

“I do. If you and your lovely friend would agree, I can get you on a ship tonight. You will be safe from the Queen’s wrath, and you will be together. Which I think would suit you both.” Shae and Tyrion smiled at each other. “I thought so. Unfortunately, you won’t have time to say goodbye to Jaime, Bronn, or Podrick. If my calculations are correct, they won’t be back until midday, at the earliest, and you need to leave within the hour.”

“Doubt you should wait, Imp,” Sandor chimed in. “Just write them a letter.”

“I have some blank paper you can use, if you wish,” his little wife offered. “A bit of wax for sealing, too.”

“Thank you, Sansa. I would appreciate that. I suppose I cannot take any of my possessions with me?” the small man asked Varys.

“Possibly one or two things, but the rest must stay here. Same for you, my dear. I can arrange for anything you wish to meet you on the ship, if you tell me now.”

“I can do without them then. But, if you would arrange for the books to be given to Lady Sansa, I would appreciate that. Now, now, my dear, I insist,” he said when Sansa began to protest. “You must continue sharpening your mind. And if nothing else, you will have plenty of ammunition to throw at your dear husband’s head if you need to.” Tyrion grinned when Sandor growled at him. “The rest, make it accessible to Jaime. I’ll have him sell it.”

“I’ll show you to the desk and paper, my lord,” Sansa said. Tyrion nodded and followed her. Shae stayed at the table, fidgeting with the cloth napkin in her lap.

“Something on your mind?” Sandor asked her, tipping his cup to his mouth for the last of the wine in it.

“Lady Sansa...I will miss her.” Shae looked down at her hands.

“She’ll miss you as well, I’m sure. You’re always welcome to visit us. Eventually, we’ll leave King’s Landing, either to retake Winterfell or to move to Wolf’s Guard. I’ll not keep her here much longer, it’s too dangerous.” Shae seemed to relax at that information.

“You would leave against the Queen’s wishes?” Varys asked. “Because believe me, she isn’t willing to let Sansa go. No amount of cajoling or courtesy will get her to change her mind.”

Sandor sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I know. I haven’t figured that part out yet. But the capital is going downhill, even I can see it, and if it gets bad enough, I just might try to leave without the Queen’s consent. I won’t endanger my wife. Especially now.”

Varys gave him a questioning look, but Sandor said no more. Sansa returned and conversed with Shae and Varys as they waited for Tyrion. Sandor noticed Gar nodding off and pushed the kid to go to bed. The boy rubbed his eyes sleepily and shuffled to the servant’s room. Sandor did not regret taking Gar into their home, his family had been grateful to have one less mouth to feed, but Saul only ever stayed the night when their activities ran late. Most nights the older boy still slept in his own home. Aldo/Wolf Bitch was gone, Alys wasn’t going to be welcomed back anytime soon, and now Shae was leaving.  _We’ll have to find Sansa a new handmaiden. One that’s not loyal to Cersei or anyone else. Never did find out who Alys was informing to. Fucking bloody hells, I hate this stupid game._ He was tired, sore from the fight, and just wanted to go back to bed and curl up with his little bird.

Seeing Tyrion emerge from the next room was a welcome sight. “Sansa, thank you for the paper and quill. I’ll leave the letters with you, if you don’t mind. Now, we should probably go. Varys, if you would lead the way?”

“Of course, but I should mention that we shouldn’t take the front door.” Everyone looked at Sandor.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I  _just_ closed the damn heavy thing!”


	93. Tyrion: How Far Is Heaven?

The trunk he had been stuffed in was roomy enough, even with the clothing Sansa had given Shae stuffed on the bottom for cushioning, but there was little to no air circulation. He felt like it had been hours since Varys had closed it on him, telling him to just stay quiet until it was opened again. The subtle shifting of movement, combined with the nausea he felt, alerted him to the fact that he was now on a ship.

_Oh gods, please don’t let me be sick in here!_

He heard footsteps walking around the trunk and then finally retreating. A gentle knock on lid and then fresh air was pouring in. Well, as fresh as you can get in a ship cabin. He inhaled deeply a few times, enjoying the scent of the sea. It helped with the nausea as he felt it recede like the tide until it was gone.

“There is a storm in the distance,” a voice murmured. He looked around and found Shae sitting on the bed, looking out the window.  _No, on a ship they’re called portholes, I think._ He kept looking around, taking in his surroundings. The cabin was small, but sparsely decorated, so it did not feel cramped. 

“Where are we going?” he asked her.

She sighed. “The Spider did not say. He was very pushy about you staying hidden as well. Only the captain and a serving boy know you are here. The serving boy will bring us food and wine.” 

“You look sad,” Tyrion commented.

“It is nothing.”

“It’s never nothing, not if it’s you. Tell me. Please?” he climbed out of the trunk and made his way to the bed. “I like hearing you speak.”

She smiled at that. “It’s nothing, really, I was remembering the last time I was on a ship. I had just run away from home.” 

“The home you don’t like to speak about,” Tyrion said with realization. “I’m sorry. You needn’t say any more.” He looked out the porthole. The sea was a lovely sight in the early morning. The sun had not yet peeked out from beyond the horizon.

She thought about it, touching her index finger to her chin, and then continued. “I was not happy there. But I cannot think of it unkindly. If I had not had a shitty home, I would not have run away, I would not have crossed the seas, I would not have wandered Westeros, I would not have met you. My Lady Sansa would appreciate that. She and I are a lot alike. We both had to become strong in order to survive in this harsh world. We both wore masks to hide and protect ourselves. We both had to go through hell to find our heaven.”

“You call this cabin heaven then?” he asked wryly. “The journey could take days, possibly weeks, maybe even months, and you’ll be stuck in here, with very little to do,” he said, waving at the empty cabin.

“Whatever could we do to pass the time?” Shae asked with a sly grin, pulling him down from the porthole and snuggling against his tired body.

_Heaven indeed,_ he thought as sleep overtook them both.


	94. Sansa: Mean What You Say

It was bittersweet to say goodbye to Tyrion and Shae. On the one hand, she would miss them both terribly, but on the other, they would be far safer wherever they were headed than here.  _We all would be safer away from here._

Shae hadn’t said what had happened, but it couldn’t have been good. She had noticed the rips and stains that looked suspiciously like blood on her foreign friend’s dress. Sansa had insisted that Shae take three of her older dresses that was still in good shape, and wear a fourth one. Shae was short enough and had a similar enough figure that the dresses would fit with minimal or no alterations needed. She also gave Shae a bag of jewelry, a series of gifts that Joffrey had given her. She hadn't known what to do with them until now. “Keep them, sell them, just stay safe, my friend.” Shae had hugged her fiercely before turning away. Sansa thought the woman didn’t want her to see her cry.

She hugged Tyrion as well. She had not lied to the court, she was glad that they had become friends and would miss her conversations with him dearly. He reminded her of Bran, just a little, though Tyrion was much more energetic when he spoke.

_Dawn will be here soon,_ she noted as she climbed into bed. Sandor had undressed and was already comfortable. She snuggled into his arms, loving how perfectly she fit in.  _It’s like we were made for each other, as if the gods crafted us both to fit together like two puzzle pieces, both in spirit and in body._

“I love you, Sandor,” she whispered. She did not expect an answer. His breathing was even, and he had been so tired, she thought he must be asleep. _Even if he is awake, Sandor is a man of few_ words, she reminded herself. _Preferring to use actions as his voice. When he does speak, it adds more weight to his words. He says what he means and means what he says._

“I love you, Sansa,” came the whispered reply.


	95. Jaime: Can Anybody Find Me Somebody To Love

_My brother is gone?_ Jaime was in shock. It was only the previous day when Tyrion had gone missing. Jaime had flown down the Kingsroad in pursuit of him, with Tyrion’s squire Podrick by his side. They had stopped for the night, were well into the second watch, when Bronn showed up. He had told them that Cersei had lied, and was keeping Tyrion imprisoned somewhere in the castle. Bronn rested his horse while he and Pod packed back up and the three of them headed back to the castle immediately. A part of Jaime was glad to be headed back to the castle, not to see his brother, but to see Brienne. He hadn’t spoken to her since their kiss, and he hated that he had to leave without telling her or being able to say goodbye. That part made him feel guilty towards Tyrion, because as the elder brother, he should be looking out for the younger, and he had really fucked that up recently. He knew that Tyrion wouldn’t hold it against him, but that knowledge made him feel even more guilty.

Bronn had taken them to see Clegane, who was incredibly grumpy for midday. He growled at them and shut the door in their faces. Brienne was the one who had opened it to them, allowing them inside, though she still wasn’t looking him in the eye.  _First things first._

“When the bloody hells did these chambers become a fucking clubhouse?” he heard the Hound snarl to no one in particular. Sansa glared at him and he sat in sullen silence.

“Where is my brother?” Jaime demanded. It was Sansa who had come forth. 

“Lord Commander, Tyrion is gone. He left late last night, did not dare to stay any longer, lest he find himself facing Ser Ilyn’s blade. He left you each a letter.” She handed them sealed letters, each with their names printed in Tyrion’s tidy script. 

_My brother is gone._

Now, the letter in his hand, the knowledge of his brother’s departure sinking in, he read Tyrion’s parting words.

_To my dear brother, Jaime,_

_Please forgive me. If I could have stayed long enough to say goodbye, I would have, but time is of the essence. I will not commit the story to paper, and I’m not even completely sure what happened, but Cersei went mad, kidnapped me, and was planning on giving me to Qyburn for some “experiments.” I was rescued before anything too permanent could be done and, by the time you read this, will be on my way to only the gods know where. However, Cersei will be in bad shape once she is found. Please be aware, I am not sorry for what happened to her. I did not do it myself, but I wish I could have, for everything she put me through my entire life and this evening most especially. I hope you can someday forgive me for this, but I will understand if you don’t._

Jaime paused there, wondering what the hell Cersei had done to illicit such a response from Tyrion. It seemed more than just what his little brother had written down, because he had heard about the state Cersei had been found in that morning. He hadn’t thought much about it when he continued towards the “clubhouse” as the Hound had called, instead of going to the woman he had once thought was his soulmate. Anger towards his twin burned through him and he felt his jaw clench involuntarily. He would always love his sister, but now that’s all she had become. She was not his lover, not his confidante, and certainly not even his friend.  _Nothing more than Father was to me, simply people I happen to be related to._

He returned to the letter:

_On a more professional note: If you would be so kind, make sure Sansa gets my collection of books. Possibly send them to either Wolf’s Guard or Clegane’s Keep. I have a feeling the mismatched couple will not be staying in King’s Landing for much longer. I had asked Varys to do this, but, as he is fond of saying, he had a kingdom to watch over, and he very well may forget about it. Please speak with him about it. As for the rest of my things, please sell them. I won’t be using them anytime soon. Give 90 percent of the money to Bronn, for continued service to the Cleganes. The amount should pay for a whole year, I believe, and the Hound can decide then if he wants to continue. I feel bad about taking Sansa’s handmaiden away, and another sword in their household would go a long way. The rest goes to Pod, for his loyal and helpful service. If you could also find Pod someone to squire for, I would be most appreciative. I would have asked the Hound, but he already has Saul, and I don’t think he would want a second squire. Possibly you or Brienne could use him? He’s a very good boy, and follows directions very well, though he does take some time to process information._

_One last thing, what_ _did_ _you do to Brienne? I rather like her and whatever you did to upset her, just apologize and show her you repent! You don’t have me to look after you anymore, so get back on her good side. You need all the friends you can get._

_Cheerfully, your brother and friend,_  
_Tyrion_

Jaime chuckled. Only his baby brother could get away with a letter like this to him. He felt better, even if he might never see him again, knowing Tyrion was safe and with his lady love. She was the only handmaiden Tyrion would run away with, and even though he hadn’t seen her in a while, he could only assume Tyrion meant her. The entire thing smacked of the Spider, but Jaime could wait to have words with him later. He looked around at the others. Bronn was still reading his with a smile on his face. Pod was wiping away tears, but he was also smiling. Brienne and Sansa were speaking in hushed whispers, while the Hound had disappeared, probably to go back to sleep. The squire and page were completely ignoring the adults, lost in their own conversation.

Bronn spoke up, “Lady Sansa, it looks like you’re not quite rid of me yet. I am to be your man for the next year.”

Sansa arched her brow and said in a droll tone, “I’m sure my husband will jump for joy at the prospect.” 

Bronn grinned back. “I know I am.”

_The man must have a death wish. Who in their right mind would flirt with the wife of the Hound? Fairly certain he’s not actually after her, but I’ll speak to him later about it. Though I suppose if he gets himself killed, I could keep the money Tyrion intends for him._ Jaime used the distraction to speak to the taller woman. “Brienne, a word in private, if I may.”  _Might as well get this part done. All this not talking is making me antsy._

That was the half-truth he told himself. It  _was_ making him antsy to not be speaking with Brienne, but it was the _why_ behind it that he was denying. She followed him to the hallway. His mouth felt dry as he parsed out his words before speaking. It felt strange, but he didn’t want to mess things up further. 

“Brienne, I would like to...um...apologize. I did not mean to offend you when I kissed you. I should not have done that and I...uh...apologize.”

She stared at him in mild disbelief. “I wasn’t even sure if you knew how to say the word,” she said dryly.

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Ok, so I’m not used to asking for forgiveness, but I hate that we’re not speaking. I hate that you couldn’t even look me in the eye. I hate that when I was panicking over my brother, I couldn’t turn to you for help or comfort. I hate that I can’t even seem to function properly without knowing that you’re going to be there. In the time that I’ve known you, you’ve become my friend, someone I trust implicitly, and I don’t want to lose that relationship just because I also wanted to kiss you.”

Brienne gaped, her wide mouth hanging open in surprise, but when he mentioned the kiss, it slammed shut and a fierce blush started blossoming underneath her freckles. Jaime gave her a half-grin, half-smirk.  _She’s so adorable when I speak so forwardly to her._

“Yes, I said it, I wanted to kiss you, wench.” He took a step forward. Brienne retreated without thinking. He saw the uneasiness in her eyes, but also a hint of what he thought might be hope. He knew he should stop and go back to apologizing, but that little spark in her eyes was all he needed to dig a deeper hole for himself. Jaime’s smile became broader. “I want to do more than just kiss you.” He took another step and she retreated again. “I want to disarm you with my charm, make you swoon with my debonair ways, and have you think of me in the same way I think of you.” Another step, another retreat, but now Brienne’s back was flush with the brick wall. Jaime trapped her with an arm on either side of her, his gold hand clanking against the brick. “I could do so much to you, Brienne, without even breaking my vows, but I wouldn’t mind doing that as well.” 

Her face went full red on that. He let his eyes drop slowly, watching the blush spread to her neck, wondering how far down it went. He remembered how she had looked in the bath at Harrenhal. Her body was nothing like Cersei’s lush one, but Brienne’s wasn’t without merit. He felt his cock stirring at the memory of how she had stood there, so proud and tall, as the water dripped down her muscular frame. He leaned in, “Just say the word, and I’ll be happy to show you exactly what I mean.”

“I...you….” Brienne stuttered. Jaime couldn’t help but be pleased with the state he had put her in. It made him want to continue teasing her, maybe by finding out how low that blush had crept.  _Another time,_ he thought.  _For now, I’ll have to settle for something that won’t kill her from the shock of the attention._ He wrapped his good hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss, his metal hand resting on her waist. She tried to resist, he could feel it, but he did not relent in his gentle ministrations, willing her to kiss him back.  _Please Brienne,_ he thought,  _please…_

She broke away, leaning her forehead on his, “Jaime, I…” He kept his eyes closed, afraid to look into hers, afraid of what he would see in those beautiful blue gems. 

“I can’t go back to how it was Brienne, I can’t.” His voice was a desperate whisper. “Don’t make me go back. I don’t think I’ll survive without you…” 

“What about...Cersei?” Brienne asked softly, Jaime heard the nervousness creeping into her voice.

“She’s not an issue, not anymore,” he said, claiming her lips again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I updated chapter 28, Catelyn: Glad Tidings. I thought about what Queen of the Seven Hells (miranda90) said in her(?) comment, and added to it. It's not a major update or anything, will not be altering any of the storyline. I just expanded on it a little bit, and added in Sansa's letter to her mother, and to anyone who is interested in reading it, I thought you might like to know. :)


	96. Cersei: The Woods Are Lovely, Dark And Deep

Her face and limbs felt like they were on fire and her head ached worse than ever. She had been found about mid-morning by the maids who had come in to clean. She had heard a knocking on the door several hours earlier by the men who were supposed to take the little monster to Qyburn, but the gag on her mouth had prevented them from hearing her calls for help.

Now she lay on her bed, with Pycelle flitting around, tending to her injuries. “Drink two sips from this bottle for induced sleep, there is enough for ten doses. Be careful not to take too much at once. The muscles in your arms and legs are severely strained, Your Grace. I would recommend staying in bed for at least a week, more likely two weeks. Your face will heal, but…” The old man pinched his mouth into a frown. Cersei glared at him.

“Just say it already,” she hissed.

“There will be scarring. A lot of scarring. Even with all the treatments known to man, you will still have significa--”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” she spat out bitterly. “Finish what you need to then leave me. I need to rest.”

Pycelle applied ointment to her legs and then left, shuffling his feet as he did. Cersei glared at his back as the door closed behind him. She grabbed the bottle Pycelle had left for her and downed the entire amount of milk of the poppy. 

As she nodded off, she grasped at thoughts of vengeance.  _I will find out who did this to me. That little monster had help escaping, whoever is near him now is probably the one who cut me. I will give them everything they gave me and then some!_

She slept. And slept. And slept.

And did not wake up.


	97. Sandor: Red Like Flames, Black Like Night

Sandor lay in bed. Sansa had long fallen asleep, curled up in his arms. He loved to listen to her breathing. She didn’t snore, not really. It was too soft to be called that. He smiled as he thought of what she would say if he told her of it. _Probably huff and say she doesn't because it's unladylike to snore,_ he thought as he chuckled. His hand had found its way to her stomach. It was still early, but he knew her body better than she did. How many hours had he spent studying her, even before they were married? And then how many once they were married and it was more than acceptable for him to ogle his own wife? _Countless hours._ He noticed everything about her. They hadn’t been married for very long, but Sandor figured it had probably happened in the first few days. She hadn’t noticed that her moonblood hadn’t yet arrived, which would be the most telling sign, and he found _that_ amusing to no end. He gently stroked her belly, wondering if it would a girl or a boy, hair as red as flames or black as the night sky, blue eyes or grey eyes. He planned on telling her by the next missed moonblood, if she didn’t figure it out herself.


	98. Epilogue - Lady of the Woods: As The Lights Go Out

The woman stood behind the tree, silently watching the Frey man plod along on his horse. Her eyes were still weak, she was still recovering, but she recognized him easily.  _Merrett Frey._

She made the signal Lem had decided on, a wolf’s howl. She had been practicing and it showed. The horse grew agitated, its ears flicking back, trying to find the source. It snorted to warn its rider, but Merrett Frey ignored it, shushing the poor beast and continued mumbling to himself about bad luck. The woman could not make out much more than that, but it was not long until  _they_ surrounded him.

It was over before it even began. They took his gold, his horse, and led him further into the woods. Merrett was babbling about how they could not do this to a Frey when he saw poor Petyr Pimple’s lifeless corpse. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. She loved to disappoint Freys. Tom was speaking to him, “--a child, a skinny girl of about ten years, or a boy of the same age. Short hair. Big sad eyes. Sooner cut you in half than shake your hand. Would have been alone.”

“No, I saw no child like that. The only children present were Freys.”  _Merrett looks ready to wet himself_ , the woman thought.  _Good._

“No? A pity. Well, up you go then.” Tom strummed at his harp nonchalantly.

“What?! No! You said you’d let me go!” Merrett wailed as they fitted the noose around his neck.

“I said I’d  _tell_ them. Lem, let him go.” Tom didn’t even look up from his harp.

“Go bugger yourself,” Lem said cheerfully. Tom merely shrugged. The woman watched, knowing it was all a mummery. They wouldn’t kill him until she played her part.

“But it wasn’t my fault! I only drank wine! I have children!” he whined. The woman sneered, hoping they would string him up soon and not draw it out. She hated the whiny ones.

“Robb Stark won’t be having any.” Tom shifted his eyes to look at the Frey man. 

“It was vengeance!”

“It was murder. And we know a thing or two about murder,” Beric stepped out from the shadows. “Don’t we, Thoros?”

“Maybe even more than that,” the red priest said. He had been leaning against a tree, his once bright robes now a dull brown that faded into the background.

“You have no witness against me!” Merrett cried in a last attempt. “You cannot try me without a witness. I’ve heard the stories.”

Beric grinned at him. “That’s where you’re wrong. We  _do_ have a witness. My lady?” He turned to where she was hiding. He always knew where she was.

She stepped out from behind the foliage. Merrett’s jaw dropped. “But...but you died! I saw you! Raymond…he cut your throat...”

“Raymond died by the hand of  _my_ daughter before he could complete his task,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “She saved me from a worse fate, though she may not know it. I was only  _mostly_ dead.” She touched the scar on her throat and the self inflicted ones on her face. They were a constant reminder of that day. A reminder of the work she needed to do. 

“My lady, you are still not completely well, so we will be brief.” Beric gestured to the man, “What do you say, my lady? Was he a part of it?”

She felt a smug satisfaction when his eyes went wide. He knew her answer, knew it for the truth. She remembered how he hadn’t left the Greatjon’s side, kept giving him drink after drink.  _Not that it helped any. Greatjon still took out many of their men, and killed two._ She nodded and rasped, “Yes, he was there. He helped his father.”

Merrett’s mouth gaped like a fish, trying to protest, but the rope bit into his soft flesh as they raised him up. Lady Catelyn Stark, now called the Lady of the Woods, smiled at him as his body jerked, his legs kicking feebly, his eyes never leaving hers, even when the light in them was extinguished.

  
**The End....For Now....**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope to be able to continue this story at a later date, but for now, this is where I will leave it. This story has encompassed all of "A Storm of Swords", plus a few chapters from "A Clash Of Kings" and "A Feast For Crows".


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